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DESULTORY REMINISCENCES 

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A TOUR 



THROUGH 



GERMANY, SWITZERLAND, AND FRANCE. 



BY 



AN AMERICAN. 









Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends ; 
Where rolled the ocean, thereon was bis home. 

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BOSTON: 

WILLIAM D. TICKNOR. 

PHILADELPHIA: 
E.L.CAREY AND A.HART. 

1838. 



+ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838, by 

William D. Ticknor, 

iu the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 



3 3 r3 



CAMBRIDGE: 
FOLSOM, WELLS, AND THURSTON, 

PBIN fKBS TO THE UNI VEI1SI1 T. 



TO TEAT 



AGREEABLE COTERIE OF INTIMATE FRIENDS, 



V. HO£ E 



SOCIETY AND CONVERSE 



ENLIVENED HIS RESIDENCE IN PARIS DURING THE WINTER OF 1835-6, 



THESE PAGES, 



WHICH MAY REVIVE PLEASANT RECOLLECTIONS OF THE PAST, 



ARE 



WITH MUCH REGARD 



DEDICATED 



BY THE AUTHOR 



ERRATA. 

Page 39, line 25, for marbled, read marble. 
116, « 16, " ckampaigne, " champaign. 
215, " 5, " are struck, " we are struck. 



PREFACE. 



It is customary for an Author, ere he 
makes his debut in character, to offer sun- 
dry apologetic or conciliatory remarks, — 
both for the sake of veiling his imperfec- 
tions, and (more especially) for the pur- 
pose of enlisting in his behalf the feelings 
of that dread arbiter who can bid him 
live, whatever his transgression, or, ver- 
so pollice, can put an instant end to his 
sufferings, by terminating at once his lit- 
erary existence. 

Although I shall attempt no formal apol- 
ogy for the infliction of these pages upon 
the public, yet I cannot forbear saying, in 
justice to myself, that, when the incidents 



v iii PREFACE. 

that are sketched in this volume were ac- 
tually occurring, no idea of even so much 
as committing them to paper crossed my 

mind. 

After an absence of more than two 
years, I returned to my native land. The 
many and interesting scenes I had passed 
through, of which, heretofore, in the fer- 
ment of constant and ever-varying action, 
the mind had taken, as it were, but hasty 
and unconscious cognizance, — now, sur- 
veyed through the clear glass of memory, 
— arranged themselves distinctly and in 
order before me. 

At first I commenced a series of papers 
to furnish occupation for the else listless 
hour, and divert ennui, with perhaps an 
ulterior view toward furnishing a pleasant 
theme of reference for that after period, 
when the fresh hues of the events, therein 
recorded, should have faded from the tab- 
let of the memory. 

By these occasional contributions, my 



PREFACE. IX 

manuscript increased, in time, to a consid- 
erable size ; and I became at length infect- 
ed with that prevalent disease, the caco- 
ethes publicandi (if the critic will pardon 
me the expression), which might assail 
even the wisest. " A book 's a book," said 
the noble poet, " e'en though there 's noth- 
ing in it ; " and, in accordance with the 
sentiment, I resolved to publish. Void 
" the head and front of my offending." 

The pages constituting this volume are 
submitted to the public eye, rather as the 
brief and " desultory reminiscences ' of a 
European tour, than as a circumstantial 
note-book history of travels. The sketches 
of Paris, which occupy a considerable por- 
tion of the volume, are the fruits of a 
long residence in that delightful Capital, 
and are as authentic, as abundant leisure 
to observe, and a disposition not unwilling 
to investigate, would allow me to obtain. 



X PREFACE. 

Having thus much premised, the Author 
makes his first bow, in a new character, 
and wishes thee, gentle reader, all health 
and prosperity. 

Boston, June 7th, 1838. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

Voyage. — Havre de Grace. — Rouen. — Arrival at Par- 
is. — Palais Royal. — Theatres. — Italian Opera. — Ju- 
lia Grisi. — The Parisian's Attachment to his City. — 
Promenades. — Courtesy to Strangers. — Description 
of the City. — Its Antiquities. — Art. — Parisian Man- 
ners and Character. — Schedule of a Day. — Gambling 
Houses. — Small Fortunes. ... . . 1 

CHAPTER II. 

London. — St. Paul's Church. — Theatres. — King's 
Theatre. — Its aristocratic Character. — Passage down 
the Thames. — Voyage to Rotterdam. — Sensations of 
Foreigners. — Appearance of the Country. — Ride to 
Amsterdam. — Reflections on Travelling. — House 
occupied by Peter the Great. — Description of the 
City. — Amusements. — Character of the Inhabitants. 
— Dutch Paintings and Painters. — Excursion to 
Saardam and Broeck. . . . . • • • 1' 



Xll CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER III. 

Utrecht. — Osnabruck. — Arrest for Cigar-smoking. — 
Bremen. — Extensive Wine Cellar. — Brunswick. — 
Antiquity of its Architecture. — Its Environs. — Vault 
of the Brunswick Family. — The new Ducal Palace. — 
Hanover. — Objects of Interest. — Government. — 
Magdeburg. — Berlin. — The Palace. — The Royal 
Museum and Arsenal. — Linden Street. — Public 
Amusements. — Theatres. — The Royal Family. — 
The late Queen Louisa. — Potsdam. — The Palaces. — 
Study of Frederic the Great. — The New Palace. — 
Military Exercises. — Sans Souci. — Frederic the 
Great 28 

CHAPTER IV. 

Reflections on Travel. — Environs of Leipsic. — The 
Battle-Ground. — Monument to Poniatowski. — Ab- 
sence of Public Amusements. — Dresden. — The Gal- 
lery of Paintings. — The Madonna of Raffaelle. — 
Paintings of Correggio. — Jewel Office or Treasury. — 
Dresden Porcelain. — General Moreau. — The Envi- 
rons of Dresden. — Style of Architecture. — The King 
and Royal Family. — Moral Condition of Society. . 44 

CHAPTER V. 

Journey to Prague. — The Black Horse. — Objects of 
Interest in Prague. — Battle of Prague. — The Bridge. 
— Islands and Rifle Shooting. — German Life. — Ger- 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

man and American Theatres. — German Troops. — 
Austria Proper and its Army 58 

CHAPTER VI. 

Journey to Vienna. — The Archduke Charles Hotel. — 
Imperial Library. — Public Rooms. — Church of St. 
Stephen's. — The Hearts of the Imperial Family. — 
Palaces. — Maria Theresa. — Schoenbrunn. — Arsenal 
at Vienna. — Promenades. — National Traits of Char- 
acter. — Music. — Strauss. — Baden. — The Archduke 
Charles. — Presburg. — The Virtue of Primitive Sim- 
plicity. — Pesth. — The Hungarians. — Scene at the 
Jager-Horn. — Wagon Ride to Vienna. . . .66 

CHAPTER VII. 

Identification of Austria and Vienna. — The Opera. — 
Cheapness of Public Amusements. — Morality of Vi- 
enna. — Lintz. — Saltzburg. — The Citadel. — Salt 
Works of Hallein. — Descent into them. — Cretins. — 
Remarks on Saltzburg. — Gardens and Statues. — Mu- 
nich. — The Queen Mother of Naples. — Amusements 
for her. — The Duchess de Berri. — Remarks on Mu- 
nich. — Statues and Paintings of Prince Eugene Beau- 
harnois. — Canova. — Churches. — Palaces. — The 
Theatre. — Der Freischutz. — The English Garden. . 83 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Journey to Frankfort. — Observations on the City. — 
Visit to the Opera. — The Bridge. — Gardens. — 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Wiesbaden. — Johannisberg. — Chateau of Prince 
Metternich. — The Grape and Wines. — Bingen. — 
Journey to Coblentz. — Baronial Castle. — Ehren- 
breitstein. — Jealousy of the Prussian Government 
illustrated. — Military Guides and Arrangement. — 
Passage down the Rhine. — Account of the Boatman. 

— Nonnenworth. — A Castle and its Legend. — 
Drachenfels. — Bonn. — The University. — Cabinet 
of Natural Curiosities. — Cologne. — The Cathedral. 

— Tomb of the Three Kings of Cologne. — The 
Crucifixion of St. Peter by Rubens. . . . .97 

CHAPTER IX. 

Journey to Mayence. — The Cathedral. — Manheim. — 
Heidelberg. — Castle built by Charlemagne. — View 
of the City. — Viewing natural Scenery at Sunset. — 
Companion from Holland. — Carlsruhe. — Baden. — 
The Castle. — Prospect from it An English Lady. 

— Beauty. — Strasburg. — The Cathedral. — View 
from it. — German Character of the City. — Remarks 

on Travelling. — Colmar. . . . . . 116 

CHAPTER X. 

Basle. — The Drei Konige von Coin. — Disappointed 
Travellers. — Remarks on Basle. — Fellow Travellers 
to Berne. — Stop of the Diligence at Midnight. — Re- 
mark of Diderot. — Scenery near Berne. — Promen- 
ade. — Lausanne. — Rousseau. — His Conception of 
Julie. — Lake of Geneva. — Gibbon. — Description 
and Account of Lausanne 131 



CONTENTS. XV 



CHAPTER XI. 

Steamboat Passage to Geneva. — Jerome Bonaparte. — 
Arrival at Geneva. — Scenery. — Excursion towards 
Mont Blanc. — Scenery on the Way. — Vale of Cha- 
mouni. — Ascent of Montanvert. — Mer de Glace. — 
De Saussure. — Further Remarks on Chamouni. — 
Return to Geneva. — Remarkable Grotto. . . 147 

CHAPTER XII. 

Voltaire's Seat at Ferney. — His Death. — The old Gar- 
dener at Ferney. — Voltaire's Character and Skep- 
ticism. — His Intimacy with Frederic the Great. — 
Coppet. — Madame de Stael. — Present Condition and 
Resources of Geneva. — Its Picturesqueness. — Lake 
Leman. — The Genevois. — Present Condition of the 
Swiss and Switzerland. . . . . . .161 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Journey to Lyons. — Annoying Police Examination. — 
Enlightening Effect of Gold on Politics. — Lyons and 
its Inhabitants. — Steamboat Passage down the Rhone. 

— Avignon. — Excursion to Vaucluse. — The cele- 
brated Fountain. — Petrarch and his Laura. — A De- 
jeuner a la Fourchette. — Wines. — Temperance. — 
Nismes. — The Amphitheatre. — The Maison Carree. 

— Aqueduct of the Pont du Gard 172 



XV111 CONTENTS 



CHAPTER XIX. 

The Dance. — La Revoke au Serail. — Taglioni. — Du- 
vernay. — Fanny Essler. — Augusta. — Male Artistes. 

— Mazillier. — Montjoie. — Perrot. — Italian Opera. 
— Rubini. — La Somnambula. — Its Performance here 
and in Paris. — Lablache. — La Prova d' un Opera 
Seria. — Tamburini. — Bellini. — Malibran. — I vanhoff. 

— Giulia Grisi. — Her Success in La Norma. — Other 
Ladies of the Opera. — Operas most in Vogue. — 
Concluding Remarks on the Opera. . . .251 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Theatre Francais. — Ligier. — Mademoiselle Mars. 

— Madame Volnys. — Casimir De la Vigne. — Don 
Juan d'Autriche. - Outline of it. — Theatre de la Porte 
St. Martin. — Mademoiselle Georges. — The Gym- 
nase. — Theatre des Vari6tes. — The Vaudeville. — 

Other Theatres in Paris. — The Wandering Jew 

The Opera Comique. — Le Pre aux Clercs. — The 
Odeon. — French Fondness for Theatrical Exhibitions 
and Music. 268 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Parisian Cafes. — Hotels. — Manner of Living. — La 
Vie en Garijon. — Breakfasting Houses. — The Cafe 
Veron. — The Cafe d'Orleans. — Remarks on Cafes. 

— Cafe Tortoni. — Its Ices and Liqueurs. — The Cafe 
Anglais.— The Count.— Portrait of an Eccentric Gen- 



CONTENTS. XIX 

tleman. — Breakfasts. — The Cafe Estaminet. — Bil- 
liards. — Eugine. — • Glance at the Restaurants. — The 
Rocher de Cancale. — Very's Restaurant. — The Vi- 
andes. — Details of a Parisian Dinner. — The French 
Volaille. — Wines 281 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Paris favorable to Literary Men. — The Royal Library. 

— Autographs. — Reflections. — Literary Facilities 
for Strangers. — French Memoires. — The Novel. — 
Victor Hugo. — Portrait of M. Balzac. — Paul de 
Kock. — His Novels. — The Difficulty of Translating 
them. — The Drama. — Casimir De la Vigne. — M. 
Scribe. — The Vaudeville. — Concerts of Instrumental 
Music in the Open Air. — Remarks on them. — Fond- 
ness of the French for Pleasure. — Concerts at the 
Champs Elysees d'Hiver. — Musard's Concerts. . 298 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Carnival. — The Masked Ball. — Crowds on the 
Boulevards. — Foreign Prejudices respecting the 
French. — Their personal Appearance. — Dress. — 
The Parisian Elegant. — The Bourgeois. — National 
Guard. — Troops of the Line. — The Parisian Char- 
acter. — Love of Glory and Pleasure. — Sense of 
Honor. — Selfishness. — The Female Sex. — Their 
Due. — Their Personal Appearance. — American and 
European Beauty. — American Beauty in Paris. — 
Moral Atmosphere of Paris. — Remark from Bulwer. 

— Girlhood in the Higher Classes of Society. — Mar- 



2 HAVRE DE GRACE. — ROUEN. 

sight before us, lay the welcome haven. Havre 
de Grace is certainly not in itself a place of great 
beauty or interest. Its locale is sufficiently good, 
with some fine, commanding situations; but the 
town seems interesting to me, and doubtless to 
most of my travelling countrymen; for it is usually 
the spot which the American, visiting the continent 
of Europe, first sets foot upon after quitting his 
natal soil, and the last to which he bids adieu. 

After passing a day or two in this city, I took 
passage in one of the steamboats for Rouen. The 
excursion is delightful, and the scene truly pano- 
ramic ; the Seine meanders through a beautiful 
and highly cultivated sweep of country, and the 
succession of hamlets and villages on its banks, 
with the picturesque views which ever and anon 
meet the eye of the traveller, tend to tinge his 
first impressions of la belle France with the true 
couleur de rose. 

Upon arriving at Rouen, we were beset by 
a most determined troop of commissionaires, who 
commenced such a brisk attack upon us in favor 
of their several establishments, that it was really 
no easy matter to get rid of them. There are 
good hotels in this city ; that which we selected, 
the Hotel d'Angleterre, is considered as possessing 
one of the best tables d?hote in the kingdom. 
Rouen has the most ancient appearance of any 
town I have visited in France. Among its edifices, 
the Cathedral is a prominent object of curiosity 
and interest ; and the bassi rilievi, that now orna- 
ment its walls, and which were not long since, at 



ARRIVAL AT PARIS. 



the suggestion of an English antiquary, cleared 
of the cobwebs that for centuries concealed them, 
are interesting, both from their great antiquity and 
excellent workmanship. The towers of the Ca- 
thedral are lofty, and from their heights is enjoyed 
a splendid view of the city and adjacent country. 
From this elevated point, the eye may follow the 
meandering Seine, until, dwindling to a silvery 
thread, his waters are lost in the blue horizon. 
The streets of Rouen are narrow and inelegant, 
and the general appearance of the town gloomy 
and sombre. The place has, however, the reputa- 
tion of being opulent, and, what may be considered 
a good criterion of this in France, it is provided 
with an excellent theatre, where I heard the fa- 
vorite music of Le Philtre particularly well exe- 
cuted. 

The distance from Rouen to the capital is ninety 
miles, which are generally passed over by the dili- 
gence in something less than twelve hours, an 
unusual speed in continental travelling. I felt a 
flutter of the heart, as, by numerous indications, 
I became aware that the great city was near, 
and my eyes caught a glimpse of the stupendous 
triumphal arch, that enduring memorial of the 
glory of Napoleon, and the valor of his " grande 
armee." No people can be more ready than the 
French to consummate the sacrifice, whether it 
be of blood or treasure, when, by the flowing of 
the one, the deed can be achieved, or, by the ex- 
penditure of the other, its remembrance be trans- 
mitted to posterity. 



4 PARIS. 

At length I find myself comfortably situated 
in this far-famed capital, the theatre of so many 
grand events, the heart whose wild pulsations 
have so oft been felt in every part of continental 
Europe. 

I took lodgings at the Hotel des Princes, in the 
Rue Richelieu, a well-known and excellent estab- 
lishment. After allotting a brief period to rest 
and refreshment, I left the hotel, in company with 
one of my travelling friends, to catch a coup tfozil 
of the city. The afternoon was just fading into 
eve ; the hundreds of gas lamps, which illuminate 
the streets and passages, were casting their glare 
around, as w x e bent our steps towards the Palais 
Royal. 

The scene which there broke upon me seemed, 
at first glance, one of enchantment ; the beauti- 
fully garnished windows, blazing with jewelry and 
gold ; the numerous mirrors, which reflect your 
person at each step ; the gay groups of promenaders 
on every side ; with the murmuring fountains, and 
the statuary, which embellish the area, — all these, 
conjoined with the peculiar character of the peo- 
ple who nightly throng its stately colonnades and 
passages, render the Palais Royal a thing unique 
in the European world. 

Paris seems hardly to awake before the day be 
well advanced. At three or four o'clock of a fine 
afternoon, the noble promenade along the Boule- 
vards and the Rue de la Paix, to the gardens of 
the Tuileries, is crowded with the fashionable of 
all nations ; and this continues in ceaseless flow 



ITALIAN SINGERS AND MUSIC. 5 

until the hour of dinner, after which important 
ceremony the theatres supervene, and thus the 
evening wears away. Of these last, there are 
nearly thirty, which nightly throw open their doors 
to the Parisian populace ; and they all appear to be 
well patronized. Those most frequented by the 
beau monde are the two operas, the Italian, and 
French, known as U Academie Royale de Musique. 
This last is the pride of the Parisians, and may be 
pronounced unrivalled. It is not the most spacious 
theatre in Europe, being inferior in size to the 
King's Theatre in London, and the San Carlo in 
Naples ; but, from the munificence of the govern- 
ment, and the great patronage bestowed upon it 
by the public, it has been able, whether in Opera 
or Ballet, to command the most eminent talent, 
and to bring forward its pieces in a style of ele- 
gance not to be equalled on any other stage. 

The Italian company comprises, with but few 
exceptions, the most celebrated singers that nation 
can boast of; Lablache, Rubini, Tamburini, and 
the prima donna Julia Grisi, whom the lamented 
death of the Queen of Song, the peerless Malibran, 
may leave at the head of her profession. The 
personal advantages of this lady are of a high order. 
She possesses the liquid, dark eyes and raven tresses 
of her own sunny clime ; add to this, a countenance 
endowed with a rare capability of expressing all the 
emotions of the soul, and a happy adaptation of 
physical power, which carries her with a sustained 
energy through the most difficult and trying scenes. 
This is most conspicuous in her performance of 



6 PARIS. 

Anna Bolena, a piece of acting, which, perhaps, 
no one who has witnessed can ever forget. 

The peculiar attraction of the French capital 
springs undoubtedly from the fact, that whatever 
there is of celebrity, in the sciences and the line 
arts, seems, as it were by a natural process, to 
tend towards it, and flourish under its protection 
and patronage. The music of Italy is nowhere 
better given than in the capital of France. Na- 
ples, Rome, Florence can boast no such opera. 
Although it be true, that the same artists alternate 
between Paris and London, yet, in the latter city, 
the chilling and apathetic air, which the aris- 
tocracy pride themselves upon assuming, fails not 
to assert its influence even upon these children of 



song. 



The contrast between the Italian and English 
singers, and indeed those of many other European 
nations, is very striking. An English singer or actor 
seems never to lose sight of his own identity ; 
but the Italian, yielding to the warmth and enthu- 
siasm of his temperament, not unfrequently causes 
his auditor to fancy that reality, which is so de- 
picted to the life. 

In listening to Grisi, as she gives the beautiful 
and plaintive music of La Norma, it is easy to 
conceive her the prophetess she personates. There 
seems an inspiration in that full, dark eye, and 
countenance lit up with daring enthusiasm. An 
utter abandonment of herself, her powers and en- 
ergies, to the work in which she is engaged, serves 
to fill out that illusion, with us so rarely complete. 



PROMENADES. 7 

It is indeed not to be wondered at, then, that the 
Parisian is extravagantly attached to his operas, 
and proud of the perfection to which they are 
brought. At the Academie Royale, in addition to 
the opera, you are regaled with a ballet far sur- 
passing aught else, of a similar nature, in Europe. 
There, night after night, Taglioni and Fanny Essler 
divide the encomiums and plaudits of the dilet- 
tanti, and certainly, to the volatile Frenchman, are 
sovereign specifics for the ills and anxieties of the 
day. 

The Parisian finds every thing provincial out of 
Paris. Out of sight of the Boulevards and the 
Tuileries, he feels restless and unhappy ; thus veri- 
fying, in his own person, the old French adage, 
" At Paris one lives, but vegetates elsewhere." 
He will allow you a fine country or a belle vne, 
but, as for a city, Paris is his beau ideal; when 
you have seen that, there is nothing further to 
admire. Of a beautiful day, indeed, scarce any 
thing can be finer than the public promenades, 
overflowing as they are with a gay, well-dressed 
population. The garden of the Tuileries, with its 
antique Chateau, calling back to the mind the times 
of Catherine de Medicis, its numerous statues and 
fountains, and spreading trees, the true rus in urbe, 
certainly struck me, the first time it met my eye, as 
an almost fairy scene. The beautiful, lengthened 
avenues, too, of the Jardin des Plantes, with its 
unrivalled Museum, ever open to gratify the public 
curiosity, go far to convince the stranger, that he is 
in a land where sound discrimination, as it regards 



8 PARIS. 

the places of public amusement and instruction, is 
joined to a liberal and enlightened policy. I would 
mention en passant, that in Paris, and throughout 
France, the name of stranger is a general passport 
for admittance to places or spectacles from whence 
the inhabitants themselves are excluded. I recol- 
lect, upon one occasion, when the funeral obsequies 
of the famous composer, Boieldieu, were celebrat- 
ing at the Hotel des Invalides, no one was to be 
admitted, who held not a paper of invitation ; but, 
as the ceremonies were curious and unusual, there 
was a large crowd collected about the gate of this 
imposing edifice. I was fortunate enough at length 
to attract the notice of one in authority, who de- 
manded of me, si fetais etranger ? and, upon my 
answering in the affirmative, gave instant orders for 
my admittance. I mention this, merely as a single 
instance of the urbanity of a nation, which is in- 
deed proverbial for its politeness throughout the 
world. 

Paris, taken as a whole, cannot be strictly termed 
a handsome city. The narrowness of the streets, 
the want of sidewalks, the dark and sombre hue 
of the towering edifices, together with an absence 
of cleanliness, must ever prevent its laying claim 
to beauty. Still there are points de vue, which 
are really splendid. You enjoy the finest of these 
as you emerge from the Tuileries, and find your- 
self standing upon the spot where suffered the 
royal victim of revolutionary France. Here the 
view embraces the royal palace and gardens, the 
classic church of La Madeleine, that most perfect 



ANTIQUITIES. b> 

edifice of modern times. On another side is seen 
the Palais de Bourbon* and the Seine, with the 
magnificent bridge, which at that point crosses it. 
And there, too, you have the lengthened vista of the 
Champs Elys^es, at the termination of which, far 
in the distance, is seen, beyond comparison, the 
most magnificent arch of ancient or modern ages, 
the Arc Triomphale of Napoleon. No one who 
has passed any length of time in Paris, and is 
familiar with its public monuments, can wonder 
at the enthusiasm of its inhabitants for their great 
Emperor, — the man who conceived, and, but for the 
discord of warring elements would have executed, 
the grand design of rendering his adopted city the 
metropolis of Europe, — the man who has left 
behind him a record of his victories, written with 
steel upon imperishable bronze, — the man who, 
while stands the stately column or majestic arch, 
must ever live in the hearts of the nation he led 
on to glory. 

Paris, as I before said, is not what we of the 
present day would call strictly a handsome city ; 
but how rich is it in monuments of antiquity, — the 
precious relics of dim and distant ages. If we 
except the Eternal City, with its colossal, time- 
hallowed remains, none other can vie with it in 
this respect. Those ancient temples, reposing, as 
they have done for centuries, in the solemn and 
immovable grandeur, which marks the Gothic ar- 
chitecture of the Middle Ages, looking down, with 



* Now Chamber of Deputies. 

2 



10 PARIS. 

a frowning majesty, upon the puny masonry of 
modern times, how absorbing are they in their in- 
terest to the classical traveller, from, perchance, a 
far distant clime, who, his pilgrimage done, gazes 
at length, with feelings akin to reverence, on those 
consecrated piles. 

Paris is, to a greater extent, a city of the past 
and the present, uniting the graces of ancient and 
modern architecture, than any other in the world. 
Here, while in the contemplation of the chefs-d'oeuvre 
of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, you are 
separated but by a few minutes' walk from all 
the eighteenth and nineteenth have to boast of in 
elegance and symmetry. Here, according to your 
humor, may you gratify each taste. You may live 
secluded, and philosophize over the vanity of all 
things human, surrounded by images of past gran- 
deur in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, or you may 
turn dandy and " strut your little hour," caned and 
gloved, amid the walking gentlemen of the Rue 
de la Paix and the Tuileries. Are you an artist ? 
the galleries of the metropolis are ever open to 
you. Are you a scholar ? the numerous libraries 
and reading-rooms afford the fittest opportunity for 
scientific and literary research. In fine, whatever 
your taste, it must needs be a whimsical one, if 
Paris contain not much to gratify it. Having said 
thus much of the city, I shall proceed to advert 
briefly to the manners and character of the people. 
The Parisian passes, almost proverbially, for all 
that is volatile ; he has the character of reflecting 
seriously upon nothing unconnected with his busi- 
ness of amusement and pleasure. 



MANNERS AND CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE. 1 1 

These conclusions are, no doubt, in many cases 
hastily drawn, and often, by a traveller's license, 
not a little exaggerated. A person passing a week 
or fortnight in Paris, having only time to cast a 
superficial glance upon the busy little world about 
him, and conversant consequently but with the 
floating population of idlers, who swarm in the 
streets, and fill the cafes, restaurants, and theatres, 
would very naturally be led to attribute that char- 
acter to the entire population. Yet, while I be- 
lieve these sketches of character are often highly 
and falsely colored by the pens of superficial ob- 
servers, I pretend not to deny, that there is in the 
ensemble of the Parisian a degree of the careless 
and volatile, an insouciance, which distinguishes 
him from his insular neighbours across the Chan- 
nel, and in general from the other inhabitants of 
Europe. 

This distinction, I think, may be attributed 
to other reasons than those often alleged, such 
as climate, &c. Take, for example, an inhabi- 
tant of London and Paris, of equally good stand- 
ing. The Englishman, in most cases, acts and feels 
as though every political movement had a direct 
bearing upon himself; he incorporates himself with 
the nation, and is as keenly sensitive in any thing 
which touches that, as though it were directed 
solely and entirely against himself; his habits be- 
ing tinged with imaginings of this nature, he be- 
comes either unduly impressed with an idea of his 
own importance, or too entirely engrossed with 
affairs of the nation ; whence result, as the case 



12 PARIS. 

may chance, feelings of care and anxiety, or senti- 
ments of hauteur; both of which, though under a 
different process of action, produce the similar ef- 
fect of rendering him distant and reserved in his 
demeanour ; thus forming a character, that for- 
eigners have generally united in representing as 
phlegmatic and inhospitable. The Frenchman, on 
the contrary, troubles himself but little on the 
score of politics, and even submits with good grace 
to evils he cannot avoid ; although, when fitting 
opportunity presents, he has ever shown himself 
willing and able to throw off the yoke. Actually 
less free than the Englishman, he is nevertheless 
happier, in his very immunity from those cares and 
anxieties, which fall to their lot who rule them- 
selves. He is, in fact, a being who lives in and 
for the present alone. Is the appearance of things 
now of a satisfactory or promising aspect ? he is 
content, and seeks not to meet, trouble half way 
by peering into the gloom of futurity. He is, in 
truth, the wiser philosopher of the two, though a 
laughing one ; and his creed must be the better 
one, inasmuch as it is the happier. Without pos- 
sessing more kindliness of heart or as much sinceri- 
ty as the Englishman, he contrives, by the greater 
courteousness of his manner, and his more winning 
volubility of tongue, to make himself the pleas- 
anter companion, and imposes his tinsel upon you 
with an affectation of feeling and a seeming friend- 
ly earnestness of protestation, which throw into 
the shade the bullion of his more taciturn neigh- 
bour. 



HISTORY OF A DAY. 13 

Respecting the manners and customs of the Pa- 
risians so much has been said and written, that it 
were superfluous here to detail them. As I before 
remarked, a stranger would suppose their lives were 
entirely dedicated to pleasure. A constant round 
of amusements seems to occupy or rather kill the 
time. Gastronomy is held to be a science of no 
mean importance, and its most eminent professors 
are looked upon as men of genius. The morning 
in Paris is scarce worth the considering ; there 
are first the preliminaries of dress to be duly at- 
tended to ; after that comes the dejeuner simple 
or a la fourchette. Of a fine day, you have the 
walk along the Italiens* or in the gardens, or, what 
is better, the promenade a cheval in the Bois de 
Boulogne. These over, if there is still an hour or 
two on your hands, repair as a last resort to 
Coulon's, and practise your carte and tierce, and 
your un, deux, trois, with that scientific maitre 
d'armes. Thus the time, with the aid of Galignani 
or Paul de Kock, flows on until six o'clock ; then 
comes the time for action. The giant city is in 
motion. With the epicurean hw, you resort to 
the saloons of the Cafe de Paris, or to Very's. An 
hour or two passes in discussing the delicate entrees 
of either renowned restaurant. After that there is 
the opera, there is the play, to speed Time on his 
course. Now is it, that Paris developes her thou- 
sand resources, veiled ever from the gairish light 
of day. The winged hours fly rapidly on until it 

* The Boulevards of that name, the most fashionable in Paris. 



14 PARIS. 

sounds two. At that moment (except during the 
gay season of the Carnival) terminates the day at 
Paris. Such is the brief schedule of a single day ; 
another dawns and ]3asses away, the reflected im- 
age of its predecessor. Mrs. Jamieson, in her 
" Sketches," has said of this gay capital, that it is 
the place of all others " ou l'on peut le mieux se 
passer du bonheur," and the remark is a just one ; 
for, amid its whirl of fashionable follies, and its gay 
multitudes that environ you, personal identity is al- 
most lost sight of, and, as it were unconsciously, you 
participate in the feelings which animate the mass. 
But let it not be imagined, that all here is gay- 
ety, though amusement would appear to be the 
chief aim. The keen eye and clear judgment will 
perceive, beneath the serene and sunny surface, 
those terrible and eddying currents, which so often 
engulf and prove fatal to the unwary. The pas- 
sion for gambling is indulged to an alarming extent ; 
it is not here a thing of nooks and corners, but 
assembles its votaries in gay saloons, in the most 
fashionable portions of the city. Liveried waiters 
are ever in attendance, to usher in the visiter ; 
refreshment is furnished gratuitously. To the es- 
tablishment is annexed a reading-room, where the 
more philosophic can retire, while the other apart- 
ments are filled with well-dressed people, many 
intent on the immediate business of the place, 
others promenading through the rooms, surveying 
themselves in the splendid mirrors, or lounging on 
the crimson sofas, absorbed, perhaps, in their own 
reveries, or, what is more agreeable, in the soft 



GAMBLING HOUSES. 15 

whispers of the tete-a-tete. The ladies (for naught 
that can allure is here overlooked) are clad in fash- 
ionable attire, and certainly in gambling bear away 
the palm from our sex ; for, not only do they stake 
their own money to the last sous, but, when all is 
gone, they not unfrequently intimate to you, that 
the loan of a napoleon or two would be very ac- 
ceptable, but, being blessed with somewhat treach- 
erous memories, invariably forget to return it. Vast 
indeed must be the sums wrung from the infat- 
uated habitues of this iniquitous resort, to enable 
its proprietor to support the expensive and almost 
princely style, that reigns throughout the estab- 
lishment. Notwithstanding the glittering piles of 
gold, and the billets de banque, that nightly pass 
from the victims into the receptacles of the crou- 
pier, the looker-on will discover but few marks of 
the outward and more palpable semblance of woe. 
Occasionally, to be sure, you do observe the clench- 
ed hand smiting convulsively on the brow, or you 
mark an expression not to be misinterpreted, dark 
as the thunder-cloud, that fosters in its bosom the 
seed of the ravaging tempest, an expression, which 
paints more vividly than language, the bosom's 
agony and despair. But the passions are tolerably 
schooled in this hot-bed of gaming ; it is more 
decorous to suffer, than to show that suffering ; 
and that young man, who has but just staked and 
lost his all, and is now leaving the room with an 
affected nonchalance, which his pallid features give 
the lie to, you may see to-morrow, perchance, a 
tenant of the Morgue. 



16 PARIS. 

Avarice seems not to be a national vice ; but, in 
order to live in Paris a man must have money, and 
gambling suggests itself as an apparently easy 
method of obtaining it. Many of its infatuated 
votaries have their systems of playing, which they 
deem infallible, but infallible are they only in never 
leading to success. 

In general among the French, fortunes are but 
small. As a people, they are easily contented, and 
certainly understand, better than any other, the 
art of living well and genteelly upon small incomes; 
there is not the rage for amassing, that prevails 
in some countries. Satisfied with his seven or 
eight thousand francs per annum, the young French- 
man enjoys those pleasures which come within his 
reach, without feeling a feverish desire for more. 
I shall not at present enlarge upon this subject, 
leaving the other observations I have to make upon 
the leading traits of French character to be men- 
tioned hereafter, as the nature of the subject may 
direct. I now prepare to leave the gilded city, 
where so many days have glided smoothly, if not 
happily, by me, leaving impressed upon the mind's 
tablet scarce a trace of their airy progress. But I 
have lingered long enough ; inaction is become a 
labor ; and the restless mind, clogged with sweets, 
seeks refuge in any change. 



CHAPTER II. 

Loudon. — St. Paul's Church. — Theatres. — King's Theatre. — Its 
aristocratic Character. — Passage down the Thames. — Voyage to 
Rotterdam. — Sensations of Foreigners. — Appearance of the Coun- 
try. — Ride to Amsterdam. — Reflections on Travelling. — House 
occupied by Peter the Great. — Description of the City. — Amuse- 
ments. — Character of the Inhabitants. — Dutch Paintings and 
Painters. — Excursion to Saardam and Broeck. 



Once more I am on the road to seek, from vary- 
ing climes and changing scenes, and in the glowing 
excitement of travel, that peace of mind, which 
rest and quietude have failed to procure. Adieu 
to Paris. The Barriers are past, and I find myself 
rolling rapidly along in the Malle-Poste for Calais, 
a distance of one hundred and sixty miles. I ar- 
rived in the evening and passed the night there. 
The next morning I crossed the Channel to Dover, 
the sea as serene as a summer's lake. Six o'clock 
found me again in a coach for the Great Metrop- 
olis, and at early dawn I alighted at Morley's Ho- 
tel, Trafalgar Square, London. So much has been 
said of this Queen of Cities, that it were now need- 
less for any traveller to particularize ; but the first 
view of this miniature world, this wilderness of 
walls, must leave an indelible impression upon 
every mind, which is capable of receiving impres- 
sions at all. I went the usual round, at one time 
visiting the venerable Abbey of Westminster, with 
its time-hallowed relics, or at another contemplat- 
3 



1 8 LONDON. 

ing, as it stands in massive strength, the Tower, 
lit memorial of the dark and troublous times, in 
which it played so conspicuous a part. And now 
let us turn to St. Paul's Church. This magnificent 
edifice stands alone ; it occupies a square by itself, 
and therein has much the advantage over St. Pe- 
ter's at Rome ; but this is its only superiority. 
A comparison between the interior of the two 
churches is unnecessary. There is one custom here, 
which is found in no other part of Europe, that 
of demanding a certain sum (small, indeed) to be 
paid on entering, and again another for viewing 
the vaults, the whispering gallery, and other parts 
of the building. Thus you ascend, paying your 
way from the door to the Ball, if, peradventure, you 
are enterprising enough to attain that eminence. 

The theatres are worthy of notice ; that in 
Drury Lane is a very handsome one, and the 
largest theatre (not including opera houses) in 
Europe. Covent Garden Theatre is also a hand- 
some house, and but little inferior in size to its 
rival. The acting at both these theatres was rather 
mediocre. The King's Theatre, or Italian Opera, 
is the rendezvous of all the aristocracy and fashion 
of the capital. Much formality is here observed. 
No one is permitted to enter the precincts even 
of the pit, without the passport of a dress coat. 
But what a pit ! Let not the reader imagine here 
is to be found the motley assemblage, coated or 
uncoated, as the weather or their circumstances 
may determine, intent upon receiving their fifty 
cents' worth of amusement. No ; the brilliant 



THE KING'S THEATRE. 19 

parterre of the King's Theatre is radiant with the 
lustrous eyes of lovely ladies, and sparkles with 
their glittering gems. Ranged above, in their 
well-furnished boxes, listen the aristocracy of the 
land, but not applaud ; that were too vulgar. A 
commoner may express loudly his admiration, but 
an earl or a duke is presumed to have survived the 
ordinary expression either of surprise or pleasure. 
Too familiar with all things to be astonished at 
any thing, he testifies by the approving nod, or the 
greater encomium of a smile, his concurrence with 
the popular opinion. 

Such is the aristocratic assemblage in whose 
presence the Grisi warbles forth her sweet strains, 
not greeted, it is true, with the enthusiastic plau- 
dits, which Italy and France have showered upon 
her, but listened to by an audience, the like of 
which can be congregated in no other city of Eu- 
rope, and, what is of greater moment to the favored 
children of song than either applause or conse- 
quence, willing to pay roundly for their pleasures 
in the hard sovereigns of the realm. It is unne- 
cessary to expatiate upon the beauties or curiosi- 
ties of London. Who that has read, is not familiar 
with Regent Street, Hyde Park, the Colosseum, 
&c. I leave these for other tourists, and speed me 
away. 

After a month's residence, I bade adieu to the 
Great Metropolis, and took passage on board the 
Dutch steam-boat Batavier for Rotterdam. We got 
under weigh at ten, A. M., and dropped slowly down 
the stream. The broad bosom of the Thames 



20 ROTTERDAM. 

below London Bridge is so covered with shipping, 
that the steam-boats are obliged to thread their way 
through the obstructed channel with much caution. 
It is, in sooth, a pleasant sight, as you pass slowly 
along, to mark the various flags of almost every 
nation, streaming from those floating castles of 
commerce, that are hither borne bv wind and wave 
to pour their products into the lap of Old England, 
and receive of her generous bounty in return. 
Upon proceeding a few miles, the Thames assumes 
a character widely diverse from that marking the 
turbid stream that bears away the filth of London. 
Its waters are now comparatively clear ; and, ex- 
panding to a noble width, it may be considered 
rather as an arm of the sea than a river. As we 
approached the ocean, the wind freshened, the la- 
boring vessel rose and fell heavily upon the strug- 
gling bosom of the wave. I looked around and 
perceived my own sensations reflected upon the 
pallid countenances of my fellow sufferers ; the 
peculiar nature of those feelings was not to be mis- 
taken, and I became, on the instant, tremblingly 
alive to a consciousness of the ills about to follow. 
My sufferings in traversing the wide Atlantic 
appeared as nothing, when compared with those 
here compressed within a few short hours. The 
demon, Sea-sickness, rioted throughout all my being. 
Mind and body alike succumbed to his dread influ- 
ence, and sinking, in the very perfection of misery, 
amid the scattered trunks and bandboxes, (how 
enviable then their unconsciousness,) I drained to 
the dregs the traveller's cup of anguish. Sleep 



SENSATIONS OF FOREIGNERS. 21 

came at last to my aid, and thus I passed the re- 
maining hours of that not to be forgotten night. 
At length the morning broke, and how changed 
the scene it presented ! The unruffled surface of 
the water mirrored the clear blue of a cloudless sky. 
While before us, in sight, stretched the wide Con- 
tinent, and I caught my premier coup d?azil of the 
Netherlands. In an hour, we were in the bustling 
city of Rotterdam. 

It seems indeed extraordinary to the American 
traveller in Europe, that in a few hours he finds 
changed, not only the manners and customs of men, 
but also the climate and general appearance of the 
country. It would appear, that, with the distinction 
of language, all other things were distinct, save 
the grand, universal properties, mental and physi- 
cal, which peculiarly appertain to the human race. 
In our own country, if this marked dissimilarity 
indeed exist, we notice it but little. The same 
medium of communication, prevailing, travel where 
we will, throughout our wide extent of territory, 
preserves in a great measure our old associations 
unbroken. A river is always a river, a mountain 
ever a mountain, no matter how magnificent the 
one, or towering the other. They are our own. 
We are pleased more, perhaps, and admire, but 
wonder less. In a foreign clime, however, the 
difference, scarce marked at home, will make itself 
immediately felt. There is something in speaking 
and thinking in a language not one's own, which 
makes him at the time a different man. His pre- 
vious impressions for the moment vanish, and are 



22 AMSTERDAM. 

succeeded by others more in consonance with the 
genius of the language, and consequently correspond- 
ing with those of the people who speak it. Hence 
it is, that nought so changes the character as 
long-continued foreign travel. 

But to return from our digression. I stand in 
Holland. Not twenty-four hours have passed since 
my foot rested on English soil. But adieu to the 
hills and vales of Old England. The eye now 
wanders o'er the unvarying, unbroken level, so 
characteristic of her ancient rival as the Mistress 
of the Seas. To a Switzer, fresh from his own 
mountainous clime, Holland would appear as a dis- 
trict wrenched from the reluctant waves but to 
be again their speedy and inevitable prey. Being 
much in haste to go on and reach Amsterdam that 
evening, I could give but two or three hours to 
the sister city. A portion of this time was passed 
in discussing a tolerable dinner at the Hotel des 
Pays Bas, and the residue in roaming about the 
quais and canals, and in arranging the prelimina- 
ries for setting off. This desired object was at 
length compassed, though not in a manner either 
elegant or commodious. In a miserable little Dutch 
vehicle, but ill protected from the weather, which 
promised to be inclement, were seated four of us 
unfortunate voyageurs, (that being the requisite 
number.) Our establishment was drawn by two 
jaded apologies for horses, who looked as though 
their long services might have insured them an 
honorable retreat in the stable, rather than a con- 
tinuation of active service in the harness. To add 



HOUSE OCCUPIED BY PETER THE GREAT. 23 

to our discomfiture, the rain long threatening pour- 
ed down at last in torrents, and we entered Am- 
sterdam at two, P. M., " in thunder, lightning, and 
in rain." Right glad were we, when alighting at 
the door of our now welcome hotel, the Grand 
Doehlen, — the remembrance of each petty vexation 
chased away by the soothing anticipation of a good 
bed and peaceful slumbers. 

Your traveller is indeed your truest philosopher ; 
living as he does in vicissitude, he learns to appre- 
ciate the passing moment, and glean from it what- 
ever there is of enjoyment. He feels not the ne- 
cessity, experienced by the inactive and sedentary, 
of recurring to the past, or drawing on the future, 
to make the present pass tolerably. Those cares 
and vexations, which so perplex and annoy the 
mass of civilized mankind, find with him but an 
inhospitable reception, or, if he feel their insidious 
approach, he has but to summon again the ready 
steeds. Ay, there is the remedy ! A livelier cir- 
culation combines with change of air and scene, 
to chase away the green and sickly train of mel- 
ancholy fancies, and " Richard is himself again." 
We remained about eight days in Amsterdam, pass- 
ing the time chiefly in the galleries of paintings, 
and riding about in the vicinity of the city, where 
are to be found villages, hamlets, and views well 
worthy the investigation of the curious traveller. 
Not far from the city is to be seen the house where 
Peter the Great passed a portion of his voluntary 
exile, intent upon learning those lessons, which he 
afterwards rendered so practically useful to his 



24 AMSTERDAM. 

subjects. The place is much visited by travellers, 
who leave their names and residences recorded in 
a book, upon whose ample pages are found records 
of visiters from each and every quarter of the 
civilized world ; thus paying their tribute to great- 
ness, and gratifying a feeling of vanity in showing 
to the world that they have done so. 

Amsterdam bears a stronger resemblance to our 
own cities than any other of the large towns of 
Europe. Its houses are handsomely built of brick, 
and kept in that state of cleanliness so consonant 
with the Dutch character. The principal streets 
are wide, with canals passing along in the centre, 
leaving a considerable space on either side. Nu- 
merous bridges are thrown over the canals just 
high enough to offer no obstruction to the boats, 
which are constantly passing and repassing in this, 
if I may use the term, amphibious city. When 
surveyed from the opposite shore of the river, upon 
whose bank it is built, Amsterdam will forcibly 
recall to the American traveller the appearance of 
New York from Hoboken. The Stadt Haus 
stands conspicuous among the buildings of the 
metropolis. It is a noble edifice, containing many 
handsome apartments, adorned with paintings of 
celebrated masters, and a hall, one of the most 
magnificent in Europe. 

To the traveller fresh from London or Paris, the 
amusements in this city will appear neither numer- 
ous nor attractive. There are indeed three or four 
theatres, and one in which French plays are per- 
formed exclusively, during several months of the 



DUTCH PAINTERS AND PAINTINGS. 25 

year. We visited the two best ; but the acting 
seemed indifferent and spiritless, and they were by 
no means well patronized. The Dutch find more 
amusement at home, over their pipes and schiedam, 
than at the theatre or the concert. In fact, with 
this good-natured people, the creature comforts take 
most undisputed precedence over intellectual ali- 
ment. Look upon the vacant and rubicund coun- 
tenance of the worthy burgomaster, and scan his 
well-fed frame. That sometime keen-edged weap- 
on, the soul, gives here but little scath to its ma- 
terial sheath. But, though the mind seem sluggish 
and inactive, the physical qualities and capabilities 
of the man are by no means deficient in develope- 
ment. The inhabitants of Holland are a com- 
pactly built and healthy-looking race. The women, 
from their sedentary life and general habits, are 
much inclined to embonpoint (if so polite a term 
be adequate to express their rotundity of contour) ; 
they likewise usually possess a fine, fresh color, 
and, in a mere physical point of view, are by no 
means destitute of attraction. There is but little 
in the capital of Holland to induce a protracted 
stay. The amateur of painting will find, it is true, 
in the Picture Gallery, and in the private collec- 
tion of a well-known banker, an occasional chef- 
aV&uvre of the best Dutch masters. Among these 
appear conspicuous the masterly, though sombre 
delineations of Rembrandt, and the efforts of him,* 

* Paulus Potter, a painter who has never been, in his peculiar 
genre, surpassed, or perhaps equalled. 

4 



26 AMSTERDAM. 

the painter of nature, who has well nigh rivalled 
his original ; but, it must be confessed, the greater 
portion of the pictorial canvass is dedicated to sub- 
jects, whose homely and uninteresting design fitly 
corresponds with their indifference of execution. 
The Dutch painters have ever been but too prone 
to copy from the lower walks of nature ; it seems, 
indeed, that their terrestrial imaginations are en- 
tirely inadequate to grasp that ethereal and ex- 
quisite grace, that sheds its eloquent lustre over 
the canvass of a Raffaelle or a Domenichino. Even 
the works of the best artists are liable to this ob- 
jection. Observe the pictures of the prince of 
modern painters, as he has been called, Peter Paul 
Rubens. Mark the coarse features of his women ; 
regular, indeed, and well formed ; but stamped with 
an expression redolent all of sense. And then, 
too, their large, voluptuous figures, in all the ex- 
posed truth of nature, indicative of the robust 
health and physical ability of his countrywomen 
in general, and of her in particular, his favorite 
wife, who appears to have been the painter's beau 
id Hal of female loveliness. Turn from those to 
the nobler conceptions of the poetic Italian. It 
is not here the faithful copy alone, that demands 
of us a tribute stronger than admiration. It is, in 
truth, the soul of the rapt artist, circumfused over 
his glowing canvass ; the offspring of that innate 
and creative power, that men wonder at and call 
genius. 

Thus much for the arts, and now for Dame Na- 
ture. I have only to observe, that the features 



EXCURSION TO SAARDAM AND BROECK. 27 

she developes in the vicinity of the capital, al- 
though interesting to the tourist at first sight, from 
their very novelty, soon pall upon the view. There 
is a tame, ceaseless monotony in Dutch scenery, 
that makes one long to escape from it, and fly to 
more diversified climes. A drive to the villages 
of Saardam and Broeck afforded the only agreeable 
excursion we made from the capital. In the dock- 
yard of the former stands the cottage, which I 
before mentioned was inhabited by Peter the Great, 
while he labored in the humble capacity of ship- 
carpenter. The latter village is peculiarly remark- 
able for the extreme cleanliness and neatness, that 
reign throughout it. No quadruped, not even the 
useful horse, is allowed the freedom of its scoured 
streets. It is the positive acme of Dutch pro- 
pretd, and carried, it is true, to rather a ridiculous 
excess. Entering the village a pied, we could not 
but admire the neatness and apparent comfort of 
the dwellings, that were well responded to by the 
happy and healthy appearance of those who inhab- 
ited them. After all, apart from the prudery of 
the thing, if such extreme be error, it is at least 
erring on the safe side. 

A stay of more than a week had now made us 
familiar with all the objects of interest in Amster- 
dam, and we prepared to leave it, to pursue the 
route to Osnabruck, and from thence to the north 
of Germany. 



CHAPTER III. 

Utrecht. — Osnabruck. — Arrest for Cigar-smoking. — Bremen. — 
Extensive Wine Cellar. — Brunswick. — Antiquity of its Archi- 
tecture. — Its Environs. — Vault of the Brunswick Family. — The 
new Ducal Palace. — Hanover. — Objects of Interest. — Govern- 
ment. — Magdeburg. — Berlin. — The Palace. — The Royal Mu- 
seum and Arsenal. — Linden Street. — Public Amusements. — 
Theatres. — The Royal Family. — The late Queen Louisa. — Pots- 
dam. — The Palaces. — Study of Frederic the Great. — The New 
Palace. — Military Exercises. — Sans Souci. — Frederic the Great. 

After leaving the capita], the first city of note 
upon the route is Utrecht. The approach to this 
city from iVmsterdam is beautiful, and the general 
scenery between the two places is looked upon as 
the finest in Holland. We had time to make but 
brief stay in this city, and resuming our journey 
arrived, after a tedious ride of twenty-four hours 
through the dreary wastes and moors of Westpha- 
lia, at the small town of Lingen. From thence 
we continued our course to Osnabruck, in the king- 
dom of Hanover. Although the interval separating 
these two towns is but trifling, yet such was the 
rough and difficult nature of the roads, that we 
were nearly twelve hours in traversing it. Os- 
nabruck, the second town, as regards wealth and 
population, in the kingdom of Hanover, is a place 
of considerable importance. The walls and forti- 
fications yet retain the marks of the severe bom- 
bardment the city sustained from the French, when 



OSNABRUCK— ARREST FOR CIGAR-SMOKING 29 

the armies of Napoleon poured over the vast tracts 
of Germany. 

In these times of peace, those war-scathed ram- 
parts afford an agreeable and spacious promenade. 
From their elevated site, they command an exten- 
sive view of the surrounding country, and open to 
the visiter, as he extends his walk around them, 
many diversified and picturesque points de vue. 
The authorities in this place are strict and rigid 
in enforcing the observance of small matters ; a 
sufficient illustration of which can be furnished in 
the relation of a little incident which there befell 
us. We had just left our hotel, and were walking 
toward the ramparts, before reaching which there 
was occasion to pass by a large edifice, that once 
might have been a handsome palace, but now was 
defaced and dilapidated. My fellow traveller, at 
my side, was smoking a cigar, and myself preparing 
to imitate his example, when a little man came up 
and accosted us in German. Not understanding 
him we walked on, upon which the little man 
waxed exceedingly furious, and, seizing the cigar 
from my companion, trampled it under foot. 

Surprised at the proceeding, which could be 
attributed only to intoxication or madness, we paid 
but small attention to the aggressor, and continued 
to walk on as before. Our mysterious persecut- 
or followed, at a trifling distance behind, keeping 
his eye fixed steadily upon us. It was evident 
enough he intended to play us some tour, and the 
event did not belie our suspicions ; for, no sooner 
did the fellow spy a small detachment of soldiery 



30 BREMEN. 

stationed there on guard, than he had us arrested 
and marched down to the police office, where our 
passports were demanded. The only alternative, 
in this dilemma, was to despatch a messenger for 
our landlord, who spoke French with tolerable 
fluency. Through his medium, we were enabled 
to express to the judges, that, by reason of an 
unfortunate lack of knowledge of their language 
and customs, we had been led into the eriev- 
ous error, (that of smoking on forbidden ground,) 
to expiate which they now beheld us standing in 
their august presence. After some deliberation 
among the members of the council, it was decided 
in favor of acquittal, and that without even a fine, 
much to the annoyance of our little accuser, who 
had wrought himself into a towering passion, and 
taken no little trouble to apprehend us, and all to 
no effect. 

After leaving Osnabruck, our next stop of con- 
sequence was at Bremen. Two days were passed 
agreeably enough in viewing this city and its curi- 
osities, one of the most ancient and singular of 
which is the church, supposed to be among the 
oldest in Germany. 

There is also here an extensive Wine Cellar, 
containing huge pipes of the old, rare wines of the 
country. This should be viewed by the tourist, 
who, if he wish to engrave the spot more strongly 
upon his memory, should (as we did) crack a bottle 
of old Rudesheimer, or such other of the sparkling 
Rhenish fraternity, as best may suit his fancy ; for 
it must be allowed, there is no mode of invigorating 



BRUNSWICK. 31 

one's reminiscences like your true practical one, 
which, by an intuitive sympathy, leads the intelli- 
gent traveller to conform his actions to the spirit 
of the place, and do as he would were the Genius 
Loci, in propria persona, before him. 

Like all the cities of Germany, Bremen has its 
pretty, shaded walks and promenades ; indeed, 
these seem to be indispensable with the Germans. 
The hotels are good ; the city, in its general as- 
pect, neat and cleanly for a continental town. It 
possesses a theatre, though not always performers, 
an extensive reading-room, &c. 

Our route now led us to Brunswick. We ar- 
rived there late in the night, and, rumbling along 
its gloomy, ill-paved streets, stopped at length at 
the gates of a spacious hotel. After arousing the 
porter from his slumbers, an affair of some difficulty, 
the massive doors were thrown open, and, without 
more ado, ourselves and luggage speedily consigned 
to repose. The next day dawned beautifully, and 
we early sallied forth on our business of curiosity. 
My recollections of Brunswick are pleasant ; the 
town is extremely ancient in its general appear- 
ance, and its architecture is totally diverse from 
that light, airy style, that characterizes the more 
modern capitals of the German States ; but it is 
from its very antiquity, that Brunswick derives, in 
the view of the traveller, its greatest interest. 
The eye wanders over those sombre, time-worn 
edifices, that meet it on every side, conveying back 
to the reflecting mind, mingled with what stands 
clearly and palpably before you, images of the 



32 BRUNSWICK. 

shadowy past, with its long train of changes, al- 
tering the face of Germany, of Europe, and of the 
world ; and yet these massive piles have stood the 
while, and yet ivitl stand. 

About the environs of Brunswick are beautiful 
walks ; and I recollect a delightful wood, threaded 
with romantic, secluded paths, along which, on a 
summer's day, while the rays of the sun, broken 
by the waving boughs, fall faint and tremulous 
upon your way, and the joyous singing of the 
birds softens and tranquillizes, it were indeed a 
pleasure to wander, to lose one's self for a space 
of time, the more exquisite from being but, alas, 
too brief. 

Unquestionably, that which must afford to the 
American as well as English tourist a more par- 
ticular, even though a melancholy interest, is the 
vault in which are entombed the remains of the 
princely family of Brunswick. Here lies Caroline, 
the unfortunate consort of George the Fourth, 
her body enclosed in a triple coffin. By her side 
slumbers the noble Duke of Brunswick Oels, who 
fell at Waterloo. Around them are seen other 
numerous tenants of that gloomy chamber, whose 
deeds have rendered them less known to Fame. 
The scene was impressive, as we stood in the 
partial obscurity, but faintly chased away by the 
rays of a solitary taper, and gazed upon what 
was greatness. 

The object that now appears most to attract at- 
tention, whether from native or stranger, is the 
new Ducal Palace, which, at the time of our visit, 



HANOVER. 33 

was not entirely completed. This noble pile prom- 
ises to rank high amongst the finest palaces in 
Europe. Indeed, one cannot but wonder, that the 
treasury of the Duke should be in a condition 
to meet the demand, which must spring from the 
indulgence of this costly whim. 

Having passed a day or two agreeably in wan- 
dering about the streets and gardens of this ancient 
town, and in viewing all it possesses of curious or 
interesting, the restless spirit of travel admonished 
us to be again on the way. 

Hanover was the next place of importance to 
be visited ; and there, after passing a restless night 
in our lumbering vehicle, we arrived just as the 
rising sun was ushering into existence one of the 
loveliest days of June. The principal hotel, where 
we lodged, is a well-conducted establishment, its 
landlord displaying a true British taste in his at- 
tention to those important items, eating, drinking, 
and sleeping. 

The Palace and gardens in Hanover are pretty, 
without laying claim to magnificence ; and there is 
a long and most beautiful walk, extending as far 
in the distance as the eye can reach, with trees 
at regular intervals on either side. There is also 
an imposing column, erected in memory of the bat- 
tle of Waterloo, whose towering height and ele- 
gant proportions cannot fail to attract the gaze of 
the traveller. Other than these, there seem to be 
no particularly striking features to distinguish the 
general appearance of Hanover from that of other 
German towns. Here is a pretty little theatre, 
5 



34 MAGDEBURG. 

which we visited on the evening of our arrival. 
The performance was creditable, and the principal 
actress, the " star " of the occasion, unusually pret- 
ty and attractive. The audience was well check- 
ered with soldiery, which, though it may savour, in 
our republican opinions, of a military despotism, 
imparts, with its glittering insignia of epaulette 
and sword, an air of brilliancy and life to the coup 
d'ceil, which can never be where the black coat 
reigns predominant. 

The Hanoverian subjects of his Britannic Ma- 
jesty are too far removed from the Sovereign Isles 
to know or care much about their monarch, and 
but few of them are able to clothe their ideas in 
other vesture than the true, honest German. They 
are governed by a viceroy, entitled King of Han- 
over ; at present the Duke of Cambridge sustains 
that dignity. Their manners and customs are their 
own, and but slightly modified by admixture of 
the British leaveu.* 

After leaving Hanover, we were not long in 
reaching the confines of Prussia. Magdeburg is 
the first town of importance, that claims the trav- 
eller's attention. It is a place of great strength, 
and, with its yawning fosses, its massive and tow- 
ering battlements, would seem to set invasion at 
defiance ; within the walls also, it wears a decid- 
edly military appearance, as is generally the case 
with Prussian towns. Troops are everywhere seen 



* Since this was written, the demise of the English King has ele- 
vated Hanover to an independent monarchy. 



BERLIN. 35 

traversing the streets, and all bespeaks the warlike 
disposition of the people, upon whose territory we 
are but just entering. Our stay here was of short 
continuance. The Schnellc Poste for Berlin gave 
us only time to catch a bird's-eye view of the city 
and despatch a hasty dinner, when all was ready, 
and off we set for the capital. The ride occupied 
some sixteen or seventeen hours, at the expiration 
of which time we halted a moment at the gates of 
Berlin. The large city lay extended before us ; 
its spires and turrets gleaming in the rays of a 
morning sun. We entered, and, having arranged 
the necessary preliminaries which ever await the 
traveller in Germany, not unwillingly exchanged 
the fatigues of coach and travel for the comforts 
of a good hotel, with spirits enlivened by the an- 
ticipation of a week or two's immunity from care 
and toil in no less a place than the city of the 
great Frederic. 

Berlin is a handsome capital, and may be con- 
sidered, with the exception of Munich, the best 
built town in Germany ; its streets are broad and 
straight, while the natural compactness of a crowd- 
ed city is relieved by the admission of frequent 
and spacious squares. Habituated to the confined 
and inelegant style, so generally characteristic of 
continental towns, the traveller here dwells with 
pleasure upon the fair open prospect and extended 
vistas that greet the eye. 

The finest buildings in Berlin are the Royal 
Palace and Museum, and the Arsenal, together 
with one or two of the theatres. The Palace is 



36 BERLIN. 

a large, ancient-looking edifice, built of a species 
of stone, which time and exposure have rendered 
of a dark and sombre hue. Its doors are thrown 
courteously open to strangers, who do not fail to be 
much interested by the select specimens of the 
fine arts embraced within its walls, together with 
the rare and costly designs, that decorate its spa- 
cious apartments. 

The other buildings most worthy of visiting are 
the Royal Museum and the Arsenal. These edi- 
fices stand not far apart, upon the most beautiful 
square in Berlin, or perhaps in any other European 
city. In the midst of this spacious area, an ever- 
flowing fountain throws upward its lofty jet. Upon 
one side the square is bounded by the lengthened 
range of the Royal Palace, while the magnificent 
edifices above mentioned limit its extent upon the 
others. From its centre issues the finest street in 
the metropolis, terminating with the splendid Bran- 
denburg gate, and skirted nearly its whole length, 
on either side, with an unbroken line of lindens, 
from which it has derived the appellation of the 
Street of Lindens (Linden Strasse). This noble 
thoroughfare is the established promenade, and, 
indeed, a more delightful one could scarcely be 
desired. The rich foliage, with its protecting 
shade, the gav groups that environ you, and the 
roomy width of the fine avenues, unite to form an 
ensemble, but rarely exceeded in beauty. As you 
pass down this street, and emerge, at length, from 
the city, by the Brandenburg gate, you come upon 
a miniature forest, thickly enough studded with 



THEATRES. 37 

trees, but whose redundant luxuriance is evidently 
restrained by the hand of man. From the absence 
of underwood, this pretty grove, with its Jeafy can- 
opy, forms a most agreeable locale for the prom- 
enade, during the sultry hours of a summer's day ; 
and the numerous paths, which strike into its 
depths, attest that it is much frequented. 

I shall now advert, in a few words, to the state 
of the public amusements, among which stand con- 
spicuous the theatres ; and, indeed, at the time of 
my visit, during the warm season, these were the 
only ones wherewith to beguile the careless evening 
hour. 

There are several theatres in Berlin, one or two 
handsomely built. There is one appropriated for 
the use of the French company, and plays in that 
language are performed during a great part of the 
year. This theatre is a popular resort for the bet- 
ter class of citizens, officers of rank, &c, who 
pique themselves upon their accurate and classical 
knowledge of the French language, an acquaint- 
ance with which is deemed indispensable in even 
a tolerable education ; although, from the intense 
hatred the Prussians have borne towards the French, 
it has never become with them, as in some German 
states, the language of the court. 

The principal theatre possesses, in addition to 
other attractions, a fair corps de ballet. The house 
is quite spacious, more so than any other I recollect 
having seen in Germany. It appeared to me to be 
very well patronized, particularly by the military, 
here the very elite of society. These gentry, clad 



38 BERLIN. 

in their uniforms, very nearly monopolized the first 
circle, so that the poor civilians were fain to take- 
refuge in the orchestra or parterre, without disput- 
ing for precedence with their mustachioed rivals. 

In the centre of the first circle appears the King's 
box, distinguished by its superior size and the in- 
signia of royalty that adorn it. There I saw the 
Crown Prince of Prussia, a tall, dignified man, and 
several ladies and gentlemen of the royal family. 
The King was not with them, preferring a seat 
with his consort in a loge over the stage, which 
commanded a better view of the scene. The mon- 
arch and his family are seemingly much beloved 
by the people. When the performances were over, 
the sides of the passage conducting to the private 
door by which his Majesty usually quitted the 
theatre were crowded by his loving subjects, anx- 
ious to witness the royal exit. As the Konig and 
retinue passed slowly along the centre, every head 
was uncovered, and the spectators regarded the 
august assemblage with much seeming veneration. 
The King is a greater personage in Prussia than 
in France ; and that military despotism established 
by Frederic the First, and carried to perfection by 
the great Frederic, has not faded away in the 
hands of their successors. 

The immediate environs of Berlin are not very 
interesting ; but there are situations, at a short dis- 
tance from it, which the traveller should by no 
means neglect to visit. At Charlottenburg, distant 
two or three miles from the metropolis, there is a 
summer palace, once a favorite residence of the 



THE LATE QUEEN LOUISA. 39 

King. Here is to be seen a beautiful statue of 
the late Queen of Prussia, Louisa. This splendid 
production is, I believe, from the chisel of Rauch ; 
the room in which it lies is arranged in a neat and 
classic style, so as to display it to the greatest ad- 
vantage. Upon an elevated sarcophagus in the 
centre is extended the figure, in the motionless 
repose of death ; the marble folds fall gracefully 
over the faultless symmetry they in part conceal, 
while the countenance wears that heavenly beauty 
of expression, which the imagination may conceive, 
but the pen in vain would attempt to portray. 

The King was most fondly attached to his Queen, 
and, it is said, has never recovered from the shock 
her death occasioned him. She was too high-spir- 
ited to survive the suffering of her country, and 
the disgrace put upon her husband, her people, 
and herself. The star of Napoleon was in the 
ascendant, and yielding, heart-broken, to the des- 
potic arrogance of the conqueror, she died. But 
the memory of the good Queen Louisa still lives 
in the breast of each true Prussian, while the 
more indifferent stranger may view, as far as may 
be in aught inanimate, traced on the sweet linea- 
ments of that marbled countenance, those amiable 
virtues, which had so distinguished the original. 
About four German or sixteen English miles from 
the capital, is the formerly celebrated town of 
Potsdam. The ride hither from Berlin is beauti- 
ful ; a smooth, hard road, over which you whirl, 
with an English stagecoach rapidity, conducts you 
through a smiling and highly cultivated country. 



40 POTSDAM. 

In the sweet season of summer, everywhere around 
are to be seen fair prospects and situations, that 
fill the eye with delight. Arrived at the town, 
you are impressed with the solemn stillness that 
reigns, and with the air of state and grandeur 
which seems still to cling about this cradle of 
Prussia's warlike kings. 

The chief objects of interest to the stranger at 
Potsdam are the Palaces, of which there are no 
less than three. The old palace we first visited ; 
and, having threaded our way through its numer- 
ous apartments, were shown the private room or 
study of the great Frederic, said to be left pre- 
cisely as in his time. Here he used to discourse 
with one resembling him much in principle, and 
gifted, perhaps, with superior talents, Voltaire. In 
this little apartment were resolved upon and ma- 
tured those plans, whose successful accomplish- 
ment elevated Prussia from her mere station of 
province to a rank among the proudest powers of 
Europe. 

The new palace of Potsdam is a noble edifice ; 
its interior is gorgeous in the extreme. Among 
the many magnificent apartments was one, that 
struck me particularly, from its very singularity. 
This spacious room had been so arranged as to 
convey to the mind the idea of a fairy grotto. 
All around the walls, were planted, in the firm ce- 
ment, sparkling minerals and ores, with an occasion- 
al admixture of rare shells. Surveyed by the glare 
of torch or chandelier, with heightened illusion, 
the effect must have been most brilliant ; as it 



PALACES. 41 

was, though by no means devoid of a picturesque 
beauty, it seemed rather to belong to the barbaric 
splendor of ancient Germany, than to the more 
refined taste of our later day. 

While looking from a window of this palace, I 
had an opportunity of seeing a small body of troops 
go through their exercise. Nothing could be more 
exact and simultaneous than was their every move- 
ment. The ring of their muskets, as they touched 
the ground, gave forth but one sound ; each piece 
was brought to the shoulder at the same moment 
of time ; the wheeling, marching, all was most 
soldier-like, and denoted high discipline ; and yet 
these soldiers, the best disciplined, as it was thought, 
in Europe, were no match for the troops led by 
Napoleon. Defeated and broken in almost every 
engagement, they were at length obliged to submit 
to the fate of the vanquished. I shall not here 
attempt to decide upon what may be the best 
mode of discipline for insuring victory, nor to what 
point that discipline may be carried without trans- 
forming the soldier into a mere machine. 

Leaving discussions on this subject to better 
judges, I will resume my survey of the ancient 
capital of Prussia. There was yet one more royal 
seat to be visited, which bears the attractive ap- 
pellation of Sans Souci. Here passed the closing 
days of Frederic's eventful life. At the time we 
visited the Chateau, it was partly tenanted, and 
strangers were permitted only to gratify their cu- 
riosity by viewing the exterior and the grounds, 
which were laid out in a tasteful manner. The 
6 



42 POTSDAM. 

prospect from the elevated terrace is beautiful and 
extensive. The tall and stately trees, that rise in 
every quarter of the city were there, in all their 
gorgeousness of leaf and hue, and the earth's un- 
dulating bosom, as far as the eye could reach, was 
clad in its luxuriant and waving dress of green. 
Towering and venerable rose the occasional pile, 
as if to attest the former grandeur of the place. 
Long I lingered over the wide-extended view, 
which, though lovely and tranquillizing in itself, de- 
rives much of its power to please from the resistless 
magic of association. Upon this now happy spot, 
where nature reigns quiet and undisturbed, the 
annals of a past age will suggest but the stir- 
ring incidents of military power. This verdant and 
rejoicing earth I gaze upon, then resounded to 
the measured tramp of armed legions, and here, 
where I now stand, beat that firm and dauntless 
heart, which sent its warm life-blood through the 
whole complicated Economy, infusing into all around 
its own unconquerable spirit of victory. 

As regards the Palace itself, although a hand- 
some edifice, it is too deficient in height to merit 
the epithet of imposing. Its light, airy appear- 
ance, however, pleases the eye, and contrasts fa- 
vorably with the large piles, not far distant, whose 
sombre magnificence would seem to preclude the 
admission of those little, social pastimes and pur- 
suits, which, by unbending the mind, fit it to re- 
turn, with renewed elasticity, to the weighty 
affairs of state. Probably Frederic thought thus ; 
for this little palace appears to have been his fa- 



FREDERIC THE GREAT. 43 

vorite residence. You are shown where the mon- 
arch was accustomed to take his daily morning's 
promenade ; you are also directed to the spot, hard 
by the Chateau, where lie interred several of his 
favorite dogs. 

No circumstance connected with the life of their 
great king seems unimportant to the Prussians. 
The faults and vices of his character have nearly 
disappeared from their vision, beneath the expung- 
ing hand of time, while appear the more prominent 
his shining qualities, as the valiant and successful 
guardian of an infant state, as the framer of the 
salutary laws upon which its dearly bought liberties 
must be ever based. I had almost forgotten to 
mention our visit to the church within whose con- 
secrated walls repose the ashes of the celebrated 
monarch. The church itself, under other circum- 
stances, might be an object of interest to the trav- 
eller ; but now you scarce pause to take a hasty 
survey ; your steps are directed towards the tomb. 
The person in attendance throws open the inter- 
vening door, and before you lies all that remains 
upon earth of the distinguished warrior, statesman, 
king. I saw not the inscription, which is said to 
have been placed there, of this import ; " Here 
repose my ashes, my renown fills the world " {Hie 
cineres, ubique fama). The epitaph would be, in- 
deed, most appropriate. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Reflections on Travel. — Environs of Leipsic. — The Battle-Ground. 

— Monument to Poniatovvski. — Absence of Public Amusements. 

— Dresden. — The Gallery of Paintings. — The Madonna of Raf- 
faelle. — Paintings of Correggio. — Jewel Office or Treasury. — 
Dresden Porcelain. — General Moreau. — The Environs of Dres- 
den. — Style of Architecture. — The King and Royal Family. — 
Moral Condition of Society. 

Having now satisfied our curiosity in visiting 
the objects most worthy of interest in this city, 
we summoned our carriage, and whirled off, at a 
rapid pace, on the road to Berlin, indulging, as 
we rode along, in such reveries and speculations, 
as a day thus spent would naturally tend to give 
birth to. There is, in sooth, an intense excitement, 
little dreamed of by the stationary, that the ardent 
traveller experiences when finding himself for the 
first time upon a spot where were performed the 
most illustrious acts that gild a celebrated name. 
Those exploits, the bare perusal of which fired his 
youthful imagination at the school or university, 
heightened now by the association of scene, assail 
the mind with tenfold effect. The heated fancy 
lends its magical illusion; and, ceasing to be a mere 
spectator, he becomes, for the moment, identified 
with the hero of his admiration. A warmer ex- 
citement thrills through each particular vein and 
fibre ; it passes, it is true, and, like all other ex- 
citements, has its reaction ; but even the very 



REMARKS ON TRAVELLING. 45 

melancholy that succeeds, weighs it not heavier 
in the balance, than the vain follies the world terms 
pleasure ? It has been said, that a man speaking 
seven or eight different languages is equivalent to 
an equal number of men who are acquainted with 
but one. May it not with similar propriety be 
urged, that a man who has resided in the same num- 
ber of countries, each possessing its distinct asso- 
ciations and customs, which so change our thoughts 
and feelings, nay, oft our very selves, — may it not 
be said, that an existence thus passed bears a pro- 
portionate ratio to the lives of as many persons 
who have never quitted the land of their nativity ? 
If the sum total of our being were to be reckoned 
by an addition of events and sensations, not years, 
such must be the result. 

There are indeed minds, which would seem in- 
capable of receiving vivid impressions, whether 
from the magnificent in nature, or the celebrated 
in story. Upon such, the time consumed in travel 
were indeed lost. The mind of man must be 
stored and enriched with the fruits of reading, 
study, and reflection, ere it be adequate to the full 
appreciation of the beautiful or sublime. Like the 
field of the husbandman, it must be carefully and 
diligently tilled, and the seed committed to it will 
not disappoint of the harvest. 

We had now whiled away near two weeks in 
the Prussian capital, and had glanced at every 
thing that was deemed worthy of notice. The 
hours flew pleasantly by ; spring had ripened into 
summer ; it was time to bid adieu. Many leagues 



46 LEIPSIC. 

were to be traversed, many cities to be scanned, 
ere the traveller might hail the castled banks of 
the broad and sweeping Rhine, or dwell with en- 
thusiasm on thine unrivalled scenery, romantic 
Switzerland. The ride from Berlin to Leipsic, the 
next town of importance on our route, is by no 
means interesting. It occupied about eighteen 
hours. Much fatigued by the exercise and exces- 
sive heat conjoined, and annoyed by clouds of dust, 
we were fain at length to take shelter within the 
hospitable walls of that venerable town. The 
weather, which was as warm and oppressive as I 
recollect ever having experienced, rendered it inex- 
pedient to yield immediately to the promptings of 
curiosity. At eve, however, we sallied forth, under 
the guidance of a domestique de place, to enjoy a 
turn in the public promenades, which are arranged 
with much taste. There is an agreeable diversity 
in these walks, a pleasing contrast of eminence and 
slope, with here and there a monumental stone 
and inscriptions, to attract the eye. Led on by 
the increasing softness of a twilight scene, we 
lingered until the evening was far advanced. The 
moon shone brightly above ; and, bathed in its 
cold, mystic rays, stood, solemn and still, the gray 
battlements and lofty towers of the ancient city. 

The ensuing morning we left our hotel betimes, 
to commence the business of the day. To the 
modern traveller, the battle of Leipsic is one of the 
most interesting associations connected with that 
city ; accordingly our researches were speedily ex- 
tended to the site of this memorable combat. The 



THE BATTLE-GROUND. 47 

best view is obtained by ascending a lofty obser- 
vatory, which overlooks the field. From this emi- 
nence were pointed out to us the several situations 
of the Russian, Prussian, and Austrian divisions, 
with that also of Napoleon and his legions ; but 
with what accuracy I cannot pretend to say. Upon 
descending from the observatory, we traversed on 
foot a section of the extended field. Upon one 
side it is bounded by a little river or rivulet, called 
the Elster. In this stream perished, after a gallant 
defence, Prince Poniatowski, " the last of the 
Poles." To look at it, you would suppose an active 
steed might clear the narrow channel at a bound, 
though, to an exhausted and retreating army, its 
waters proved well nigh an impassable barrier. 
Near the spot where the Polish prince spurred his 
charger into the fatal stream, is seen a low mon- 
ument, bearing a Latin inscription, wherein you 
find recorded the many virtues and the touching 
fate of this noble and unfortunate soldier. There 
are pleasant gardens in this vicinity open to the 
public ; as you stroll through them and survey the 
fair face of nature, clothed in the sunny smiles, 
that man's disfiguring passions can chase away 
but for a time, you cannot refrain from wondering 
that War should have pitched upon so tranquil a 
spot for the celebration of his sanguinary orgies. 

There were no public amusements of conse- 
quence in the city, at the time of our visit. The 
theatre was closed, there were no concerts, no 
instrumental music to be heard, a rare thing in 
German cities ; so that, after walking about the 



48 DRESDEN. 

streets and promenades, and gazing at the curious 
objects for a day or two, it began to grow dull. 
The population of Leipsic is nearly equal to that 
of Dresden ; but the attractions it possesses are by 
no means to be compared with those of the latter 
city, which can boast more objects of taste and 
virtu than are to be found in any other European 
capital of similar magnitude. 

From Leipsic you take the Eilwagen to Dresden, 
accomplishing the distance in about nine hours. 
The country through which you pass, abounds 
with interesting scenery. Not far distant from the 
road roll the placid waters of the Elbe, joyfully 
hailed by the traveller, as he journeys along to the 
fairest city that reposes upon its verdant banks. 
At length behold us arrived and comfortably lodged 
at one of the well-kept hotels that are clustered 
together in the great square, ready to commence, 
with the coming day, a new campaign of sight- 
seeing, — an amusement, which, if it had not now 
for us the winning charm of novelty, is at least 
of a nature ever enough exciting to dispel ennui 
and its host of attendant ills. 

Lord Byron has somewhere remarked, that there 
is no excitement like travel, save that which springs 
from ambition; another might have said love, but 
the noble poet, if he had sipped its pleasures, had 
drunk too deep of its bitterness to avow such a sen- 
timent. Be that as it may, it is an undeniable 
fact, that the excitement resulting from travel is, 
in certain temperaments, of an almost overpower- 
ing nature. To mark the spot where Csesar lived 



GALLERY OK PAINTINGS. 49 

and ceased to live, to tread where trod the loot of 
Hannibal ; to stand in the Forum, that ages since 
rung, perchance, with the eloquence of a Cicero or 
an Hortensius. Oh ! the flood of associations, that 
pours in upon the startled, shrinking soul, as, re- 
coiling from the sad reality of the present, it re- 
verts to the mighty majesty of the past ! — Will 
it be thus with all empires ? will the inquisitive 
traveller, in after ages, wander, pilgrim-like, amid 
the erst powerful cities of our own beloved coun- 
try, then fallen from their greatness, and muse, 
as we do now, over the ruins of once Imperial 
Rome ? 

But to return from our digression. The first 
visit of the stranger in Dresden is due to its mag- 
nificent gallery of paintings, — a gallery possessing 
nobler compositions than can be found in any other 
collection, out of Italy. Among these, your atten- 
tion is riveted to a picture incomparably superior 
to the rest. It is the celebrated Madonna of Raf- 
faelle. Much has been said and written of this 
inspired and unrivalled composition. At first glance 
it seems more especially remarkable for the ex- 
quisite harmony and softness, that reign through- 
out ; but, as you continue to gaze upon it, those 
unearthly beauties, that must have touched the 
soul of the artist, (as he viewed them, perchance, 
in the lone vision,) with celestial fire, pass from 
the motionless canvass, and sink deep into the 
heart of the beholder. The genius of the painter, 
soaring to grasp the lofty nature of his subject, 
breathes warm and fervid in each line. Nothing 
7 



50 DRESDEN. 

can be more eloquent. Upon the features of the 
blessed Virgin, you read the written thoughts of 
the innermost soul, traced with deeper eloquence 
than that of words. All appertaining to the world 
has passed from that celestial countenance, and, 
in its stead, there dwells an expression, calm, holy, 
and instinct with angelic purity ; yet breathing a 
clear and almost fearful consciousness of that glo- 
rious, inscrutable destiny, that has rendered her 
" blessed among women." The seraphic counte- 
nance, with its ineffable beauty, seems indeed the 
very incarnation of all that the warmest concep- 
tions of her high and mysterious calling could at- 
tain or embody. In her maternal embrace, she 
sustains the future Saviour of the world. The 
features of the heaven-born infant wear that pecu- 
liar expression, rarely found save in the pictures of 
Raffaelle ; an expression of heavenly mildness and 
resignation. But yet sorrow enters there, and 
dwells on those sweet, unearthly lineaments ; it 
is a prophetic sorrow, in unison with the spirit of 
his holy mission. More than three hundred years 
have rolled away since the painter traced his im- 
mortal conception. The fashions, the tastes of 
ages have altered again and again ; but, through all 
these changes, this great work has existed, the 
admired of all admirers, a lasting memorial of the 
genius that devised it. Time has not robbed the 
canvass of that soft and twilight coloring ; the 
same inspiration dwells upon the countenance vir- 
tue and innocence have made their own. It would 
seem to me, that the spiritual poetry of this com- 



PAINTINGS BY CORREGGIO. 51 

position admits not of being transferred. I have 
never heard of its being successfully copied. Rash 
indeed would be the attempt. 

In the same apartment with the Madonna are 
to be seen the other most valuable paintings of the 
collection, many of them possessing the rarest 
merit. There is the celebrated sacred piece by 
Correggio, commonly called his Notte, brilliant as 
though it were painted but yesterday. This cele- 
brated picture is a wonderful specimen of that 
superb coloring, so characteristic of the master ; 
but, in classic disposition of figures, it will sustain 
no comparison with the finished production of Raf- 
faelle. There is another Correggio in this room, 
considered by many the most perfect picture ever 
painted. It is called the Magdalen. She is rep- 
resented in a posture nearly recumbent, her head 
supported on the right elbow, absorbed in the read- 
ing of a volume (the Bible) lying on the ground 
before her. The dimensions of the picture are 
small, and it embraces but a single figure, yet is 
its value considered inestimable. 

We are at a loss to conceive, by what art the 
ancients were enabled so to fasten their colors as 
to defy the effacing touch of time. The works of 
Correggio are wonderful instances of this tenacity 
of hue. To judge by their brightness and warmth, 
you might suppose them posterior to those of Rey- 
nolds or Sir Thomas Lawrence, rather than pro- 
ductions of the middle ages. They are, at the 
present day, considered of inestimable value, owing, 
in a great degree, no doubt, to their being but few 



52 DRESDEN. 

in number. A picture by Correggio will command 
as high a price as any other whatever (always 
excepting the five or six acknowledged best, which 
descend from king to king as heir-looms, and are 
no more to be parted with than the very throne 
on which he sits) ; yet it is generally allowed, 
that his drawing is not the most correct, but such 
is his magic of coloring, that it is impossible to 
withstand its fascination. 

It is not my purpose here to enlarge upon each 
particular jewel of the Dresden gallery. Their 
lustre, to be appreciated, must be seen ; words are, 
after all, but imperfect translators of the feelings. 
The warmer eloquence of the eye conveys more 
to the awakened mind, at a glance, than do pages 
in the description. 

The next place that claims our attention, is the 
jewel office or Treasury, as it is called, most rich 
in precious stones, rare vases, and medallions. The 
display of diamonds is dazzling ; a green one, said 
to be unique, struck me as being particularly mag- 
nificent. It was nearly an inch in length, and of 
the purest water. 

Independent of the precious stones, there are 
many other objects of great value and interest to 
be seen in the various apartments, such as sculp- 
tures in ivory, curiously wrought and richly inlaid ; 
many of them displaying the quaintest devices, 
and a nicety of workmanship almost surpassing 
belief. Any information you may desire respect- 
ing the many interesting objects that claim your 
attention is most cheerfully given by the polite per- 



EXHIBITION OF PORCELAIN. 53 

sonage who accompanies you through the rooms. 
In return you are not to forget him upon leaving. 
The perquisites of offices like these, in Europe, 
are generally the principal emolument which is 
derived from them. Another curious exhibition is 
that of the famous Dresden porcelain. It is con- 
tained in a long range of apartments, cold and 
damp, constituting the cellars of a large palace. 
You may here observe the rise and progress of 
this art, from its rudest state, to the present pin- 
nacle of perfection. As you stroll through the 
rooms, the Protean ware appears before you in 
almost every guise, now bird, now beast ; anon 
in some grotesque figure it excites a smile ; again 
in another, those elegant proportions demand the 
tribute of admiration. It is really curious to ob- 
serve the rich profusion of this costly ware lying 
almost carelessly at your feet, each specimen of 
which would be highly valuable with us. Indeed, 
one cannot fail to observe, in Dresden, the noble 
scale upon which every thing public, as regards 
museums, collections of paintings, jewels, &c, is 
conducted. No expense seems to have been spared 
in procuring objects worthy at once the station 
of the monarch and the refined taste of a rich 
and luxurious capital. 

During the Saxon campaign, Dresden was the 
head-quarters of Napoleon. Not far from the city 
is the spot where fell the most illustrious victim of 
that campaign, General Moreau. The place is 
designated by a pile of stones loosely heaped to- 
gether. The circumstance which is related, in 



54 DRESDEN 

connexion with his fall, and was the cause of it, 
is well known to every one familiar with the his- 
tory of Napoleon. The character of Moreau pre- 
sents much to admire ; he was an intrepid soldier, 
a most skilful general. The armies of France have 
seldom marched to conquest under an abler com- 
mander ; but it is unfortunate for his fame, that, 
blinded by individual hatred, he should have taken 
up arms against his country, whose glory he had 
once so gallantly maintained. The environs of 
Dresden are pretty and picturesque ; many of the 
rides about the city are very pleasant. I recollect 
one, in particular, conducting to a spot, where were 
combined the ingredients of as pretty a landscape 
and prospect as might be desired. A little placid 
lake, with a lofty hill towering at its side, richly 
covered with trees and verdure, were the promi- 
nent features of this fair scene. Along the hill 
were zigzag paths, threading their devious way to 
its summit ; midway we arrived at what was once 
a fortress of strength, now dilapidated and in ruins ; 
its situation is bold, overlooking the fearful preci- 
pice beneath. At present, the ruined pile serves as 
an excellent point de vue, and, as such, repays the 
eager traveller for the fatigue experienced in 
scrambling up the precipitous ascent. 1 noticed 
there (and it seems characteristic of the good 
feelings and charity of the German people) a lit- 
tle receptacle for the contributions of visiters ; the 
receipts to be appropriated for the benefit of the 
sick and indigent, as we learned from a rude in- 
scription, carved upon a fragment of rock. This 



NEIGHBOURING SCENERY. 55 

circumstance, trifling as it may appear, tended to 
impart additional interest to the spot ; for the beau- 
ties of nature are never more enchanting than 
when we regard them as developing and maturing, 
with soft influence, the kindlier sensibilities of 
mankind. 

For miles about Dresden, the country abounds 
in interesting scenery. The Saxon Switzerland, 
with its mountains and valleys, not far distant from 
the city, offers, to the lover of natural scenery, a 
banquet rich in attraction. The inhabitants of 
Dresden duly appreciate the romantic character of 
the country in which the capital lies embosomed. 
Avez-vous parcouru la Suisse Saxe ? is one of the 
first questions addressed to the stranger on the sub- 
ject of curiosities. If you have not yet had that 
pleasure, you are told, that it is quite impossible, 
really Gothic, to quit Dresden without making the 
tour of that portion of its environs. But to return 
from this agreeable excursion amid the mountains, 
and resume our researches in the city. 

The style of architecture in the Saxon capital 
is generally neat and durable. Of this the prin- 
cipal church furnishes an elegant specimen. Its 
spire appeared to me as particularly beautiful ; a 
happy union of elegance and strength. The choir 
of this church is much celebrated. I was present 
at one of their performances, and should certainly 
pronounce the music extremely fine. Yet, not- 
withstanding its excellence, one cannot but reflect 
with pain upon the means that have been made 
use of in bringing it to the present state of per- 
fection. 



56 DRESDEN. 

It was in this church I beheld the King and 
royal family of Saxony. The monarch was much 
advanced in years, and very infirm. He appeared 
beloved by the people, who looked on in respectful 
silence, as the cortege moved slowly along. The 
King, supported by an aid, walked with faltering 
steps. His relatives, ranged on either side, accom- 
panied, and the rear was brought up by officers, 
guards, &c, among whom I remarked several per- 
sonages of rank, whose prepossessing figures were 
shown to much advantage by their elegant and 
well-assorted uniforms. 

The Elbe, at Dresden, is a majestic stream. 
Terraces, raised along its banks, answer admirably 
as promenades, and overlook its wide expanse. 
These constitute the favorite walk, and multitudes 
of both sexes may be seen there congregated, of a 
pleasant afternoon and evening. In addition to the 
charms of exercise and prospect, there are not 
wanting the substantial comforts of the cafe and 
restaurant, nor the soft breathings of music. With 
such concomitants, care-worn must indeed be the 
man, who cannot stroll away an hour, forgetful of 
all else save the scene around him. Each moment, 
thus snatched from the turmoil and tumult of war- 
ring passions or harassing cares, should be looked 
upon as precious, and reverted to in after time as 
a bright spot in the varied scene of existence. 

Among the noble structures of this city stands 
conspicuous its bridge, remarkable alike for the 
beauty and the solidity of its masonry. 

Respecting the public amusements, I had not 



MORAL CONDITION OF SOCIETY. 57 

the means of judging from actual observation ; it 
being in the heat of summer at the time of our 
visit, the theatres and concert rooms were closed. 
I have understood, that Dresden can boast of an 
excellent opera ; there certainly must be taste and 
wealth enough in the metropolis, to well sustain 
an amusement, that every educated German is so 
partial to. 

Still less should I venture to pronounce a de- 
cided opinion, with regard to the moral character 
of the people. From a residence of but few days, 
or even weeks, in a large and populous city, one 
is apt to collect but erroneous and superficial ideas 
respecting the real character of its inhabitants ; 
but it would seem to me, in proportion as you leave 
behind the more northern districts of Germany, 
and travel southward, a greater degree of laxity is 
to be observed in the cords that bind society to- 
gether. A lower standard of morals seems the 
criterion, and the general aspect of manners and 
customs, it must be confessed, appears not alto- 
gether a tableau, upon which a sage might gaze 
with unmingled approbation. 



8 



CHAPTER V. 

Journey to Prague- — The Black Horse. — Objects of Interest in 
Prague. — Battle of Prague. — The Bridge. — Islands and Rifle 
Shooting. — German Life. — German and American Theatres. — 
German Troops. — Austria Proper and its Army. 

After passing several days pleasantly in Dres- 
den, we concluded at length to leave this fair city. 
Frail are the links that bind the traveller, and 
broken with scarce an effort. An hour or two and 
w T e are on the road for the ancient city of Prague. 
The diligent, though not over speedy Eilwagen 
rolled on, at its accustomed pace, while its inmates, 
immersed in retrospections, realities, and anticipa- 
tions, were fain to while away the wearisome hours. 
Nothing occurred, during our journey, worthy the 
recording. At length the ninety miles are passed ; 
the last intervening hill is surmounted, and, far 
away in the distance below you, stretching along 
a vast plain, may be discerned Bohemia's capital, 
once celebrated Prague. Upon arriving in the city, 
we found it difficult to obtain comfortable lodgings. 
An important festival was about taking place, and 
the influx of strangers had been uncommonly great. 
After several unsuccessful attempts, we were com- 
pelled to put up with but scanty accommodations 
at an indifferent hostelrie. Here we lodged for 
a day or two, then changed our quarters, taking 
apartments at the Black Horse (Schwarze Ross), 



OBJECTS OF INTEREST IN PRAGUE. 59 

accounted the best hotel in the place. The com- 
pany at this establishment seemed to me to be of 
a superior order to that we had generally encoun- 
tered in German cities. Whether it be, that they 
were but temporarily summoned together to cel- 
ebrate the occasion (the festival before alluded to), 
or whether such may be the usual appearance of 
the better class of citizens, I cannot tell. Their 
manner and appearance impressed me favorably. 
Any thing bustling or even business-like would have 
appeared to my eye as discordant with the still, 
half-deserted grandeur of the ancient city. There 
may be but little in Prague to interest the insatiate 
lion-hunter. You will search in vain for the man- 
ifold picture galleries, or the sculptured marble, 
that other cities boast of; but to the traveller, 
well nigh surfeited, for the moment, with the rich 
profusion the arts have heretofore spread before 
him, there are objects replete with an interest of no 
common nature. The very tranquillity of its wide 
extent, its romantic walks, delightful drives, and 
the agreeable retreats that invite your steps ; and 
more than all, the lordly castles, the time and war 
scathed cathedrals, of almost traditional antiquity, 
independent of those stirring associations, connect- 
ed with the very name of Prague; — all these must 
awaken the senses to no ordinary degree of pleas- 
ure. I stood upon the ground where was fought 
the memorable battle, more impressed upon my 
mind by the voice of music than that of history. 
It is the first piece the memory of my early days 
now presents, and certainly it then fired my fancy 



60 PRAGUE. 

beyond the power of forgetting. I marked the 
spots where were still visible, upon the walls of 
the ancient cathedral, the effects of that terrible 
cannonade. From the elevation I had attained, 
the eye embraced a wide extent of territory, and 
the citv below. An emotion of thankfulness was 
my first feeling, in that Providence had at last con- 
ducted me to the spot, that youthful imagination 
and after reading had surrounded with so strong 
an interest. The river Moldau flows through the 
city, separating the old from the new town. The 
stream is wide, though but shallow. It is spanned 
by one of the longest, if not finest bridges in Eu- 
rope. This structure dates from remote antiquity. 
It is built in a most substantial manner, and per- 
forated with numerous arches. Its principal cu- 
riosity, to the eye of a foreigner, consists in the 
numerous images, larger than life, of saints and 
holy personages, that surmount its sides. In the 
centre of the bridge is the figure of our Saviour 
descending from the cross. While passing this, 
the true Catholic never fails to remove his hat. 
The bridge is certainly a curious and interesting 
specimen of architecture, and recalls, with its im- 
ages, the less tolerant times of past centuries, when 
to have omitted the required obeisance to sense- 
less stone was viewed as a heinous offence, deserv- 
ing condign punishment. Not far from the bridge 
are two small islands, but a little distance apart, 
which are much frequented by the people, for 
purposes of recreation and amusement. Upon one 
of them are galleries for rifle-shooting. Some of 



GERMAN LIFE. 61 

the marksmen seemed quite expert for amateurs ; 
though no doubt they would have been looked upon 
but as indifferent shots in the head-quarters of the 
rifle, the backwoods of the West. When the mark 
was struck, an explosion took place, and a figure 
sprang forth, as if to attest the triumph ; the re- 
maining portion of the island, remote from the 
whistling range of deadly shot, is dedicated to more 
peaceful pleasures. The promenade with its grace- 
ful accompaniment of waving trees is there, and 
there also are cafes ; while, during the fine season, 
tables and seats are everywhere provided, and 
cherry-cheeked maids are in waiting, prompt to 
obey your call for the refreshing lemonade or ice. 
Here you may sit down, with none to disturb you, 
and sip the sweets of solitude, if such be your hu- 
mor, even in the midst of the gay scene. A band 
of music, playing the favorite airs of the German 
school, enliven you with their soft strains. Upon 
the whole, it was an excellent picture of German 
felicity, embracing the three standard ingredients 
in profusion, viz. beer, pipes, and music. 

For one, I was enchanted with the rural air (the 
" rus in urbe " of the luxurious Roman), which so 
prevailed. Of a fine morning our carriage was in 
requisition, and a drive about the picturesque envi- 
rons served most agreeably to beguile the hours, 
while, from the sultriness of noon and its attendant 
ennui, we experienced a pleasant exemption amid 
the shaded walks of the pleasure grounds I have 
attempted to describe, and the gay concourse that 
thither resorted on the same errand with ourselves. 



62 PRAGUE. 

Certes, the Germans are not unphilosophical in 
their amusements, whatever the costly Englishman, 
or his volatile neighbour across the Channel, may 
think to the contrary. Any one, who has remark- 
ed them in their leisure hours indulging in the 
luxuries of the delicate meerschaum and best Turk- 
ish, with an ample mug of the true Bavarian on 
the table beside, their feelings in unison with the 
dulcet strains of music that pervade the air, must 
confess that here is the very quintessence of nega- 
tive happiness. 

In connexion with the subject of amusements in 
Germany, I must observe, that upon one head the 
inhabitants have just reason to be proud. I al- 
lude to their public promenades and gardens, in 
which no other European nation surpasses, or per- 
haps equals them. From the picturesque boule- 
vards of the smaller cities to the Volks-Garten 
and Prater of Imperial Vienna, there is everywhere 
taste and elegance. The extreme utility that at- 
tractive resorts of this nature must be of to a peo- 
ple, whose sedentary and studious character might 
otherwise have induced them to neglect the neces- 
sary exercise for health, seems early to have en- 
grossed the attention of the Germans ; and their 
proverbial industry has been as happily exempli- 
fied in this channel as in that of their literary la- 
bors, and indefatigable pursuits for the supposed 
hidden gems of science. 

I attended the theatre, and was fortunate in wit- 
nessing the representation of a favorite opera, "Mas- 
saniello." The music of the piece was given with 



GERMAN AND AMERICAN THEATRES. 63 

excellent effect ; the audience were delighted, and 
testified their satisfaction by the noisiest acclama- 
tions. Every favorite morceau was repeated again 
and again, and still they seemed scarcely satisfied. 
At the conclusion, the performers must have been 
most heartily wearied of the bruyant applause with 
which a grateful public crowned their efforts. How- 
ever, to us the piece, with all its repetitions, was quite 
a treat, being the first opera we had attended since 
leaving Berlin. The orchestral music in Germany 
is very rarely other than good. Each performer 
is content with the part allotted to him, and the 
aim of every individual is to do all in his power to 
make the ensemble as perfect as possible. It is not 
the ambition there, as with us, to shine in a solo, 
often to the prejudice of the general effect. We 
carry our national republican feelings into our 
very theatres ; no performer appears satisfied with 
his own portion, unless, forsooth, it be the highest, 
but is ever ambitious to rise beyond his individual 
sphere, whether adequate or not. For this reason, 
in no small degree, our theatrical representations, 
whether of a musical or other nature, are generally 
much inferior to those we see in Europe, where, 
even should there not be present any " star " of 
superior magnitude, each role is so happily sus- 
tained, with a view to the success of the piece, not 
the celebrity of the player, that, what were other- 
wise but a faint, spiritless illusion, now steals over 
the excited fancy with all the force of vivid, absorb- 
ing reality; leaving the spectator in the situation of 
one just awakened from a dream, doubting awhile 
which the truth, which the illusion. 



64 PRAGUE. 

During my residence in the Imperial dominions, 
I nowhere witnessed a finer display of soldiery 
than at Prague. The occasion to which I partic- 
ularly refer, resulted from the following circum- 
stance. Upon the day subsequent to our arrival in 
the Bohemian capital, a general officer of high rank 
was thrown from his horse and instantly killed. 
He was buried with military honors, a little without 
the city ; and all the troops in the garrison were 
marshalled to escort the dead soldier to his last 
home. I could not but admire the appearance of 
the several corps. In their excellent training, and 
tall, athletic figures, you beheld the surest physical 
promise of success ; while their bronzed and rug- 
ged countenances seemed but ill fitted to mirror 
the image of Fear. There was one peculiarity I 
observed in the appearance of these troops, con- 
nected with the military appendage to the upper 
lip, that Continental soldiers delight in. Instead 
of wearing the moustache fiercely twisted upward 
toward the eye, as in Prussia, or allowing it to 
descend in rich profusion over the mouth, as is 
common among the French soldiery, these gen- 
try wore it not only perfectly black but rigid, 
seemingly as though of iron. By means of a cer- 
tain composition, that gives it both color and cohe- 
sion, they train the moustache in such a manner 
as to make it form a right angle with the line of 
the nose, and protrude several inches, in a straight 
line, from either cheek ; so that a person walking 
directly behind can plainly discern the fierce and 
pointed extremities. This custom, besides the 



AUSTRIA PROPER AND ITS ARMY. 65 

convenience of the thing, certainly communicates 
to the wearer a very ferocious appearance, which 
might tell favorably upon the field of battle. 

Austria undoubtedly possesses a well-organized 
and efficient, as well as numerous army. Let the 
reader glance for a moment at her position in the 
great Continental family, and the necessity of such 
warlike precaution will be on the instant apparent. 

Austria Proper is but a small territory, contain- 
ing a population not exceeding that of Holland. 
Within its limits it embraces but one large city, 
the capital, Vienna. The original Arch-Duchy, 
through matrimonial alliance, wily diplomacy, and 
open invasion, has now covered with its eagles the 
vast tracts of Bohemia and Hungary, and the ex- 
tended plains of Northern Italy. To keep these 
overgrown possessions in due subjection requires 
all the military force the nation can maintain, and 
that, too, directed by the most keen-sighted pol- 
icy ; and such, upon investigation, we discover it. 
The Austrians are all soldiers ; with them the army 
is the high road to advancement. 

The Cabinet of Vienna is the craftiest and most 
Argus-eyed in Europe. Its head and hand, he who 
is nominally Prime Minister, but in reality the 
Emperor of Austria, is, Prince Talleyrand alone 
excepted, by far the most skilful and adroit diplo- 
matist Europe has witnessed since the days of Wil- 
liam Pitt. But adieu to the Machiavelli of Aus- 
trian politics and his machinations, and once more 
to our humble self. 
9 



CHAPTER VI. 

Journey to Vienna. — The Archduke Charles Hotel. — Imperial Li- 
hrary. — Public Rooms. — Church of St. Stephen's. — The Hearts 
of the Imperial Family. — Palaces. — Maria Theresa. — Schoen- 
brunn. — Arsenal at Vienna. — Promenades. — National Traits of 
Character. — Music. — Strauss. — Baden. — The Archduke Charles. 
— Presburg. — The Virtue of Primitive Simplicity. — Pesth. — The 
Hungarians. — Scene at the Jager-horn. — Wagon Ride to Vienna. 

After a week's stay in Prague, we determined 
to put ourselves again en route for Vienna ; but 
first there was one knotty point to be debated. 
What were the best maniere de voyager to adopt ? 
The distance between the two cities is two hun- 
dred and forty English miles, rather long, particu- 
larly if you are to accomplish it by the usual con- 
veyance. We hesitated some time between the 
style and independence of one's own carriage and 
post-horses, and the sundry advantages incidental 
to our old, tried friend, the Eilwagen. At last the 
more homely virtues of the latter prevailed. Our 
ignorance of the language and customs, and the 
consequent anticipated trouble with postilions at 
each post, were obstacles too great to be passed 
over. The journey to Vienna was accomplished in 
thirty-six hours. How vividly I can even now recall 
my impressions, as I caught the first glimpse of 
its distant spires. One of our German fellow- 
travellers extended his arm toward the great city, 



JOURNEY TO VIENNA. 67 

as its view first opened to the eye, and exclaimed 
with exultation, Das ist Wien. Indeed, it appears 
to me, that the Austrian subjects have a feeling 
with regard to Vienna, similar to that which erst 
felt the proud Roman, as he gazed, with swelling 
heart, upon his own lordly capital. Vienna is now 
what once Rome was, the city of the Caesars ; but 
the title alone can she arrogate to herself, not the 
power. The Imperial eagles have too often stoop- 
ed before the tricolor of France ; and Napoleon has 
destroyed all their boastful claims to invincibility. 
At length, having passed the extensive suburb, we 
entered the city proper, where, the necessary busi- 
ness of passports being duly attended to, we drove 
to the Archduke Charles, an establishment which 
offers to the visiter the best of accommodations. 
Indeed, I can recall no hotel in Germany where 
the traveller is so well served, and politely attend- 
ed to as in this. The salle a manger, with its in- 
tricate carte, from which you are so puzzled to 
select, brings the Parisian restaurants to mind. 
The apartments are ample and well furnished, and 
last, not least, the garcons are sufficiently accom- 
plished to comprehend your wishes, even when 
expressed in French ; a most decided convenience, 
as every voyageur will readily admit, provided he 
be so fortunate as to understand it himself. 

To enter into a detailed account of all the curi- 
osities here to be seen, would be to indite a mass 
of prolixities. With regard to these, in books writ- 
ten professedly for the purpose, are to be found 
the most complete inventories. Under the guidance 



68 VIENNA. 

of a domestique de place, with the useful work of 
Madame Stark in hand, we traversed and retrav- 
ersed the city, visiting every thing in turn. The 
Imperial Library is a splendid edifice, and its interior 
arrangements are admirable. The noble height of 
the spacious hall, and its many thousand tomes, 
which the eye embraces as it were at a glance, 
produce an effect, which I do not recollect to have 
observed in any similar establishment. Ordinarily, 
in these extensive receptacles of science, the gen- 
eral effect is greatly impaired by a constant recur- 
rence of petty alcoves, or there is a deficiency as 
it regards height, which is the case with many 
rooms in the Vatican. This last, with the Bibli- 
othcque Royale at Paris, and the one we are at- 
tempting to describe, are no doubt the best en- 
dowed libraries in Christendom ; but, for classic 
appearance, and a happy union of taste and ele- 
gance in the general arrangement, I think the one 
at Vienna surpasses them both. 

The rooms, where are exhibited the regalia, 
precious stones, robes of state, &c, are exceed- 
ingly rich, absolutely refulgent with their costly 
contents. Here may you see diamonds of uncom- 
mon magnitude and the purest water ; rubies of 
inestimable value sparkle around you. In the glass 
cases, you observe the insignia of the order of the 
Golden Fleece, composed of diamonds, arranged 
with beautiful workmanship. Passing on to anoth- 
er room, you behold the velvet robes of state, of 
divers colors, glittering with gold and silver. Here, 
too, is the sceptre, with its accompanying badges 



CHURCH OF ST. STEPHEN'S. 69 

of command. You may view all, to your heart's 
content, but nothing touch. The conductor re- 
mains ever near, to see that no such mistake oc- 
curs, and busies himself in telling a long story 
respecting the objects before you, which, being in 
German, added nought to our previously acquired 
stock of wisdom. I should have mentioned, that 
there are also sundry other apartments, containing 
sculptures in ivory, ingeniously wrought, rare gob- 
lets, vases, and specimens of virtu. The eye is 
well nigh dazzled by the brilliancy of the exhibi- 
tion. You cannot quit these apartments, without 
a kindly feeling towards a government, which thus 
throws open its magnificent collections to the stran- 
ger, free from all expense or trouble. 

The churches in Vienna, generally speaking, can 
boast of nothing striking, whether in architecture 
or decoration. That of St. Stephen's, however, 
may be instanced as a noble exception. It is a 
magnificent relic of the old massive, Gothic archi- 
tecture, seemingly durable as old Time himself, 
whose attacks it has so long defied. The whole 
appearance of the edifice is highly imposing ; the 
lofty tower rears itself to a giddy height, unsur- 
passed by any in Europe, save, perhaps, that of the 
far-famed Cathedral at Strasburg. There is some- 
thing singular in the appearance of this spire, as 
you survey it in the distance. A very decided va- 
riation from the perpendicular is noticed, increasing 
with the altitude. You experience, on this ac- 
count, as when surveying the celebrated Campanile 
at Pisa, a feeling of wonder, that it has been able 



70 VIENNA. 

to resist for centuries the rude shocks of infuriate 
tempests. 

Besides this venerable pile, there are other 
churches, interesting from the relics therein pre- 
served. In one, or rather the vault beneath it, are 
contained in vases, preserved by certain prepara- 
tions, the hearts of all the imperial family of Aus- 
tria. The vases, differing much in size and work- 
manship, are ranged around in a semicircular form. 
You are not permitted to enter the room where 
they are ; but, by applying your eye to an aperture 
made in the wall for such purpose, a distinct view 
of the whole is commanded. An array of hearts ! 
The scene was extraordinary and impressive. The 
largest urn contains her heart, who ruled as Aus- 
tria's most stately Empress, Maria Theresa ; and 
the smallest one, that which once beat in the bosom 
of the unfortunate Due de Reichstadt. From such 
a spectacle may indeed be culled a salutary moral 
respecting the intrinsic worth of human greatness. 

The palaces in Vienna are open to the stranger ; 
they contain much to gratify the curiosity and im- 
prove the taste, in the sister arts of painting and 
sculpture, not to mention the richness of decoration 
and those costly designs, that attest the magnifi- 
cence of the royal possessors. There were in the 
imperial palace two apartments, which more partic- 
ularly than the rest attracted my attention, not from 
the splendor of their furnishing, but rather from 
those innumerable thoughts and associations, that 
flood the mind, as we gaze upon aught intimately 
connected with the familiar story of past greatness. 



SC1IOEJNBRUNN. 71 

These apartments were the favorite ones of Maria 
Theresa; here they were still, as she had left. them. 
Even this was the bed, with its gorgeous drapery, 
upon which she had oft reclined in sleep. All was 
as left by her ; for, such is the veneration of the 
Austrians for their great Empress, similar to the 
feeling the Prussians entertain for Frederic the 
Second, that they are unwilling to disturb any 
thing, which may be looked upon as bearing the 
distinct impress of her august presence. And, in- 
deed, it is no subject of wonder, that her memory 
is held in such regard among the people, when we 
reflect upon the high rank Austria attained among 
the nations of Europe, during the lengthened period 
of her wise administration. 

The palace of Schoenbrunn, situated at a short 
distance from the capital, is also deserving of no- 
tice. Its architecture is of that light, airy nature, 
which pleases the eye ; and the grounds about the 
Chateau are laid out in a manner at once tasteful 
and ingenious. Upon an elevated site, not far 
from the palace, stands an ornamental building, 
after the nature of a summer-house, but upon a 
princely scale. From the top of this edifice, a 
splendid view of the surrounding country may be 
enjoyed. After roaming about these pleasant 
grounds for an hour or two, we returned to Vienna. 
The Chateau of Schoenbrunn, at that time, was 
denied to visiters, so that we were compelled to 
forego the satisfaction of beholding apartments, 
which were often honored by the presence of Na- 
poleon, during his memorable campaigns, and also 



72 VIENNA. 

served for many years as the residence of his un- 
fortunate son. 

Among the edifices of Vienna few more engross 
the visiter's attention than its Arsenal, one of the 
most complete in Europe. In the court or area, 
is to he seen a ponderous chain, of great length, 
made use of hy the Turks, during their siege of 
the city, for obstructing the navigation of the Dan- 
ube. In the long train of apartments within, you 
behold arms of every description, from the rude 
weapons of remote antiquity, down to the costly 
implements and scientific engines, with which mod- 
ern warfare transacts her sanguinary trade. These 
are fantastically arranged along the sides and ceil- 
ing, producing a singular and not inelegant effect. 
Among the more remarkable features of the Aus- 
trian capital must be particularly distinguished its 
public promenades and gardens. Of these the 
Prater is the most spacious and frequented. This 
extensive pleasure-ground has been much cele- 
brated by travellers, and its very name seems iden- 
tified with that of the city. I must allow, that 
I was somewhat disappointed at first sight ; my 
expectations were not a little raised ; and, when I 
did at length behold it, it was under unfavorable 
circumstances. At that time, in the heat of sum- 
mer, this noble promenade was shorn of all those 
attractions, to be derived only from that migratory 
class, the beau monde. No brilliant equipages, no 
well-dressed pedestrians were present, to give life 
to the scene ; in a word, it was not then a fash- 
ionable resort. Doubtless of a pleasant eve pen- 



NATIONAL TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 73 

dant la belle saison, when thronged by the gay, 
its noble avenues and spreading trees illuminated 
by the glare of fire works, while the charms of 
music add to the festivity, the Prater must be a 
spot of no common beauty and attraction. This 
fairy domain is embraced on every side by the 
extended arms of the majestic Danube, seemingly 
in fond dalliance, as he rolls onward his turbid 
waters to their far distant destination. 

There is yet another pleasure-ground, which, at 
the time of my visit, presented a far more gay and 
joyous appearance ; it is called the Volks-Garten, 
in plain English, the People's Garden. I remem- 
ber, one fine evening I repaired to this garden in 
company with my friends ; its numerous walks and 
grassy plats were absolutely thronged by the happy 
concourse, attracted mostly by the promise of fire 
works, which were to conclude the evening's amuse- 
ment. We threaded the devious paths, marking, 
with all the curiosity of foreigners, the peculiarities 
of costume, physiognomy, and manners, that so 
combine to affix its distinct individuality to every 
national assemblage. There is, perhaps, no occasion 
more favorable for observing the temperament of 
a people, than such an one as this I refer to. Care, 
for a while, receives his conge. Chilling reserve 
and formal punctilio are also banished. A certain 
degree of laisser aller throws a charm over the 
scene. In France the national volatility and wild 
exuberance of spirits on such occasions are not to 
be restrained ; they burst forth into a thousand 
fantastic freaks and gambols (I allude, of course, 
10 



74 VIENNA. 

to what are termed the middling classes of society). 
Here in Germany, you perceive enough to convince 
you, that the true character of the people is serious 
and sentimental. Though they may fly to pleasure, 
as a fancied medicine for the ills of life, they seldom 
give way to that spontaneous gaiete du cceur, which 
requires no support from adventitious excitement. 
In a word, in the midst of their pleasures, you 
discern, set in strongest contrast, the characters 
and tastes of either nation, of the bold, mercurial, 
reckless sons of France, and the hardy, philosophic, 
enduring offspring of Germany. 

The Viennese, in common with all Germans, are 
passionately fond of music, instrumental music 
more particularly. It finds its way everywhere. 
There can be no joyous assemblage without it. It 
is customary, during the fine season, for those who 
can afford the luxury, to repair at early eve to the 
gardens and restaurants, where, in the open air and 
spacious saloons, are set numerous tables. At one 
extremity of the large hall, always found in restau- 
rants of this description, is a band of music, dis- 
posed as in an orchestra, who regale the feasters 
with the more ethereal aliment of sweet sounds. 
I have heard Strauss, a great favorite with the 
Vienna public, play his lively waltzes again and 
again, on occasions like these. The question was 
often asked, " Is Strauss to play at such a garden 
to-night ? " and, if so, the maitre tie restaurant was 
sure to reap a rich harvest. 

The stranger should not omit visiting Baden, a 
watering-place, distant about twenty miles from 



BADEN. 75 

the Austrian capital. This is a place of great re- 
sort during the heat of summer ; the waters, which 
are held in high estimation, are so strongly impreg- 
nated with sulphur, that I found it an affair of no 
small difficulty to swallow a single glass. The 
imperial family usually pass a few weeks in Baden 
every season. The Archduke Charles has here a 
handsome maison de campagne. The road lead- 
ing to his palace, and extending beyond it, is of 
a romantic nature, conducting to a valley replete 
with charms for a lover of the picturesque. We 
did not see the Archduke here, where he passes 
the greater portion of his time, nor at Vienna ; a 
circumstance I regretted, for, if we except Met- 
ternich, no personage in the Austrian dominions 
enjoys an equal celebrity ; and, even while we 
award its just meed of applause to the adroit 
scheming of the wily diplomatist, our feelings of 
admiration and good-will are enlisted on the side 
of the gallant soldier and the honest man. 

There is also at Baden a park, in which the 
habitues promenade, to see and be seen. Apart 
from these, there is but little to interest or amuse. 
A few hours are sufficient to initiate you into all 
the mysteries of the place, and leave you well sat- 
isfied to whirl back along the dusty road to Vi- 
enna. 

We were unwilling to quit the Austrian domin- 
ions, without making an expedition into Hungary, 
and catching at least a bird's-eye view of that prim- 
itive country. Accordingly, one fine day in July, 
having arranged for a voiture to convey us to Pres- 



76 PRESBURG. 

burg, we set out upon our tour. The distance from 
Vienna to Presburg is rather less than forty Eng- 
lish miles. The road is sufficiently good, and, at 
the usual rapid rate of travelling, not much time 
is consumed in the trajet. The Danube rolls ma- 
jestically on, at intervals but a few paces from your 
route. It is certainly a beautiful sight, as you ride 
along the lofty and precipitous bank, to mark the 
noble stream below, as it expands into broad bays, 
or circles, with rapid current, around the numerous 
islets that stud its wide and sheeny surface. Gilded 
as were now its rippling eddies, by the rays of a 
setting sun, that bathed no fairer landscape in the 
warm flood of its descending splendor, it formed 
a scene, such as the glad eye could not weary in 
gazing upon. As the dusk of eve was throwing 
its obscuring mantle over this fair scene, we had 
leached the ancient capital of once unfettered Hun- 
gary. Our stay at Presburg was but brief, af- 
fording, however, sufficient time to visit its princi- 
pal curiosities. A portion of the town is com- 
mandingly situated on a lofty eminence, the brow 
of which is surmounted by the ruins of a once 
strong castle. The fatigue of scaling the hill to 
this point is well compensated to the traveller, 
by the enjoyment of a beautiful prospect, which 
there greets his eye ; the mighty Danube rolls 
below, now swelled to a noble width and volume 
by the confluence of its several branches. De- 
scending to the town, and passing through its va- 
rious streets, you find but little to reward investi- 
gation ; in fact, I think there can be no one, who 



THE VIRTUE OF PRIMITIVE SIMPLICITY. 77 

has formed an idea of Hungary from what he has 
read, but will be disappointed when that previously 
formed notion is submitted to the touchstone of an 
actual tour through the country. There is something 
captivating in the conceptions we had formed of 
the fiery valor of that noblesse, who once rescued 
Europe from the Turk, and of the well nigh prim- 
itive simplicity, and freedom from the artificial 
restraints and deceptions of what is termed refined 
society, that has been said to characterize the 
Hungarians. Upon a nearer view, you perceive, 
that simplicity of manners is often but another 
name for debasing ignorance, and that virtue itself 
derives its very JEgis from the conventional re- 
straints that society imposes. It is a most mis- 
taken opinion, that a people of simple habits and 
manners must perforce be virtuous. The Swiss 
might be instanced as another proof of the validity 
of my assertion ; and I have not a doubt, that, 
where civilization is at its acme, in Great Britain 
for example, there is infinitely more virtue than in 
all Europe beside. 

After passing a day in Presburg, we took pas- 
sage on board the steam-boat for Pesth, distant 
about one hundred miles. Our boat quitted her 
moorings at six, A. M., and completed her trip in 
ten hours. The river expands to a magnificent 
width as you approach the capital, but its banks 
below Presburg rather disappoint you. I looked 
in vain for the lofty hills and picturesque campagne, 
which I had fancied formed so striking a feature in 
Hungarian scenery; for miles the eye wanders over 



78 PESTH. 

naught but an uninterrupted and unvarying level. 
Arrived at length at Pesth, you are gratified by an 
agreeable change of the scene, both as respects 
nature and art. A bridge connects the cities of 
Pesth and Buda or Ofen. On the left bank there 
is a long reach of country, flat and undi versified ; 
but upon the Buda side commences, almost from 
the water's edge, a bold eminence, on the summit 
of which stands the royal palace of Hungary's 
once sovereign kings. At present, it is inhabited 
a part of the year by the Austrian Viceroy. It is 
a curious edifice, and well worth the visiting. 
The apartments generally are very handsome, with 
tasteful decorations of wall and ceiling, though one 
sees with regret, that they are divested of the 
costly furniture, that must formerly have belonged 
to them. The situation of this ancient chateau is 
most splendid, crowning, as it does, an eminence 
that commands the adjacent country for many 
miles. The Euphrates of Germany, at your feet, 
is hurrying its rapid way to the Euxine ; opposite 
stands the fair city of Pesth, with its handsome 
modern edifices and busy qitais. The spectacle 
is of a nature that one loves to linger over. When 
the brilliant beams of the setting sun throw their 
last gorgeous tints upon the stately walls, or the 
mellow glow of twilight adds its pensive and soft- 
ening influence, there is something of enchantment 
in the scene. Who, that has a soul, can stand 
without emotion upon a ground like this, which 
once, it may be supposed, resounded to the firm 
tread of Hungary's armed legions, as, marshalled 



THE HUNGARIANS. 79 

under the eye of their royal leader, they prepared, 
like the heroes of Thermopylae, to resist even unto 
the death, — to turn back the furious onset of the 
insulting Turk, or perish in the attempt. 

It is when associations like these steal over the 
mind, that this once powerful country throws off 
her debasing disguise. She is no longer the crouch- 
ing dependant of imperial Austria. No; she stands 
forth again the impregnable bulwark of the reli- 
gious faith, the liberties, of Christendom. 

Alas, it is melancholy to reflect upon the rapid 
deterioration a nation undergoes, when stripped of 
those inestimable blessings, civil and religious lib- 
erty. The Hungarians, once so proud, are now, 
as a mass, spiritless, uneducated, and politically 
degraded. It is true a spark of the fire, that ani- 
mated his ancestors, may glow in the bosom of the 
noble, while he muses over their deeds of valor 
and patriotism, as embalmed in the historic page ; 
but, if so it be, policy forbids its developement. 
The jealous eye of Metternich, ever watchful 
to detect, and his far-reaching arm, equally sure 
to punish, forbid the hazardous experiment. The 
iron sceptre of Austria has bitterly humbled the 
nation ; but may we not hope she will yet emerge 
from her darkness, and, in the face of ungrateful 
Europe, again assert and maintain her rightful pre- 
rogative ? 

We are at length in the fair city of Pesth. Its 
buildings, as I have before observed, are of a hand- 
some, modern style of architecture. Those you 
first behold, which front upon the river, make 



80 PESTH. 

really an elegant appearance. They are composed 
of a very light-colored stone, erected with much 
regularity ; and, at a distance, the whole resembles 
the facade of an extensive palace. We took rooms 
at the Jager-Horn, reputed the best hotel in the 
city, and one of the most excellent I have found, 
throughout the whole extent of Germany. Here 
every thing was life and motion. It had been an 
exceedingly warm day, and, at the time of our 
arrival, when the extreme heat was giving place 
to the cool airs of evening, every one seemed in- 
tent upon enjoying the refreshing change. The 
wide piazza and balconies of the Jager-Horn were 
crowded with guests, some sipping their coffee or 
ices, others indulging in the more palpable com- 
forts of a substantial supper. Inclining rather to 
this last, after the fatigue and privation incident 
to travelling, we took our seats amid the joyous 
throng, and were speedily imitating their good 
example. Of a truth, it was a curious scene, that 
there met the eye ; there were men whose various 
garbs and physiognomy would indicate represen- 
tatives of different and widely separated nations, 
and yet they mostly were liege subjects of the 
Austrian. The wild Hungarian, from those remote 
regions which the Danube laves ere his waters are 
finally lost in the broad bosom of the Black Sea, 
the more civilized denizen of Pesth and Presburg, 
with here and there an individual, whose superior 
refinement of dress and manner might denote the 
ettxant of Vienna, were here assembled, with a 
dash of the military to season the whole, in the 



THE DANUBE BY MOONLIGHT. 81 

mustachioed lip and tasteful uniform of the Hun- 
garian hussar. 

I visited the theatre during the evening ; it is 
large and sufficiently commodious. The tout en- 
semble, however, impressed me as being of too 
sombre and triste a character, for a temple where 
rosy Pleasure should preside. At the conclusion 
of the performance, which was but indifferent, I 
sallied forth to take a stroll along the quai and 
bank of the river. It was a lovely night ; the 
moon's silvery beams danced gayly on the broad 
bosom of the rushing waters, whose murmurs alone 
stole in upon the else unbroken silence. Opposite, 
steeped in the mellow moonlight, rose proudly the 
heights of Ofen, thick studded with cottage and 
clustering vine. The scene was indeed most beau- 
tiful, and it was with a regret enhanced by the 
probability of never more beholding it, that I re- 
traced my homeward path. 

We found it no easy matter to pitch upon a com- 
modious conveyance from Pesth to the Austrian 
capital. Propelled against a rapid current, the 
steam-boat makes but. slow and tedious progress 
The public eilwagen was not to leave for some 
days. In this dilemma, we were compelled to 
have recourse to a mode of travelling rather repul- 
sive at first sight, it must, be owned ; however, it 
was something new, and the mind yearns after 
novelty, maugre the prospect of a trivial temporary 
inconvenience. The mode of travelling we decided 
upon, then, was a sort of posting, but of a most 
rustic and uncouth nature. Our horses went well 
11 



82 VIENNA. 

enough, for the Hungarians are rapid drivers and 
unsparing of the whip ; but the vehicles, in some 
instances, were of a nature to baffle description. 
A wheelbarrow had been to the full as agreeable. 
Picture a rude wagon, without springs or seat save 
the hay that was plentifully strewed along its bot- 
tom, without a cover to protect the voyageurs from 
the sun's ardent rays, and our voiture is before you. 
I must add, that it was drawn by two steeds, 
whose appearance was but little in their favor. 
But first impressions are often erroneous, and so 
it was in this instance ; for our horses, though of 
marvellously plain and uncombed exterior, acquitted 
themselves most creditably. I remember a dis- 
tance of thirty miles we traversed with the same 
animals in three hours, a rate of going that might 
challenge the boasted celerity of an English stage- 
coach. 

We were two days in accomplishing this journey, 
having rested one night upon the way ; and right 
glad we were, as one may well suppose, after rid- 
ing one hundred and sixty miles in the manner I 
have attempted to describe, to alight at the door 
of the hospitable Hostelrie, Erz-Herzog Carl. 

The evening was far advanced, and " tired na- 
ture's sweet restorer ' ' speedily came to my aid. 
Sweet is that dreamless repose, the child of stern 
fatigue, and sweet the consciousness, as yielding 
to thy soft embrace, O gentle Sleep, we feel the 
inestimable boon has not been lightly won. 



CHAPTER VII. 

Identification of Austria and Vienna. — The Opera. — Cheapness of 
Public Amusements. — Morality of Vienna. — Lintz. — Saltzburg. 

— The Citadel. — Salt Works of Hallein. — Descent into them. — 
Cretins. — Remarks on Saltzburg. — Gardens and Statues. — Mu- 
nich. — The Queen Mother of Naples. — Amusements for her. — 
The Duchess de Bern. — Remarks on Munich. — Statues and 
Paintings of Prince Eugene Beauharnois. — Canova. — Churches. 

— Palaces. — The Theatre. — Der Freischutz. — The English Gar- 
den. 

After our return from Hungary, we passed sev- 
eral days in Vienna, pleasantly enough. It is, in- 
deed, an agreeable residence, possessing numerous 
attractions, which would have justified a longer 
stay than we had time to make. Although the 
Austrian capital cannot compete with Paris in 
life, gayety, and diversified amusement, nor with 
Naples in picturesque situation and romantic envi- 
rons, it possesses other advantages, which well 
nigh place it upon an equality with the one, and 
give it a superiority over the other. As the capital, 
and in fact almost the only large city, of Austria, 
it is the grand central point, where every thing of 
note in the arts and sciences is to be found concen- 
trated. The whole splendor of the realm is brought 
to bear upon this one point. It has been said, and 
perhaps with justice, that Paris is France. See 
the capital, and you have seen all. Still more does 
Austria seem identified with her metropolis. It is 
the heart, in which her verv life blood circulates. 



84 VIENNA. 

Touch it, and the vital energies of the whole body 
are paralyzed. In adverting to the amusements of 
Vienna, I have not as yet mentioned its theatres. 
At the time of my visit, neither the opera nor ballet 
were at their hig i« j st point of excellence. Winter, 
the season that calls together the brigher stars of 
the musical and dramatic world, had not yet ar- 
rived. Despite, however, the heat of the weather 
and absence of the beau munde, I found at the Opera 
much to admire ; the performance of Mozart's chef- 
cPceuvre, Don Giovanni, and of Robert le Diable, 
the enduring monument of Mayerbeer's genius, 
highly interested me. Both these operas having 
been written by Germans, seem to be given forth 
with heightened effect in their own deep-toned Ian-* 
guage. I have seen them represented repeatedly 
at the Academie Royale of Paris, with all the mag- 
nificent accompaniments of orchestral and scenic 
effect ; but the airy nature of the language consorts 
ill with the deep and sepulchral tones of the music 
to which it is wedded, or the stern and supernatu- 
ral images, in which the wild genius of the com- 
posers delighted. 

The prix d?entree at the places of public amuse- 
ment is but trifling. One florin only was demand- 
ed, for the most eligible seat in the house, at the 
Opera, — - a strong contrast with the expense of 
similar amusements in Paris and London, in which 
last-named city I have paid one pound sterling 
(ten times the sum) for a place no better. 

With respect to morality and general regard for 
decorum, travellers differ much in their statements, 



MORALITY OF VIENNA. 85 

concerning the inhabitants of Vienna. Many have 
united in depicting the city as gay and dissolute in 
the extreme; as a spot, where virtue is but lightly 
prized and little worth, where deviations, however 
glaring, are easily excused when there are rank 
and wealth to cloak them. The middling and the 
lower classes, they assert to be, to a great degree, 
profligate and mercenary. In fine, they would 
have us believe, that there is nothing in the el- 
ements of society, in the Austrian capital, suffi- 
ciently strong to oppose a firm resistance to the 
corrupting power of gold. That, as a general thing, 
depravity follows hard in the steps of political 
degradation, cannot be denied. A nation, where 
dwells not the bright Genius of Liberty, can offer 
but faint homage to the attractions of virtue. It 
is only in the bosoms of freemen, that she can 
rear her altars ; still I must believe, that the fea- 
tures of the picture above presented have been 
drawn beyond the truth. Travellers and historians 
are but too prone to gratify the sickly and prurient 
taste of a portion of their readers, by exaggerating 
and overcoloring the sketches that should be true 
to the life. 

Were I asked for the impressions, which a few 
weeks' residence in Vienna have left upon my 
mind, I should give as my opinion, unquestionably, 
that the Viennese are much addicted to pleasure, 
and consequently fond of money as a means by 
which it can be most easily obtained ; that, through 
a generally defective system of education, the 
poorer classes are immersed in ignorance, and, as 



86 LINTZ. 

a natural result, appear to have but a vague sense 
of right and wrong, in any thing which the laws 
of the realm do not recognise and punish as pos- 
itive crime, or reward as virtue. But from the 
sweeping conclusions of some travellers, who bring 
forward statements not a little startling, and round- 
ly assert, that there are few or no exceptions, I 
must widely differ. 

Having decided to travel post from Vienna to 
the Rhine, we had selected, in that city, a com- 
modious carriage, and provided ourselves with an 
experienced courier. Every thing was ready for a 
fresh start, and soon it was not without a feeling 
of regret, that I cast the last, lingering look upon 
those lofty ramparts and extended fauxbourgs, 
which mark the Imperial city. But we rolled 
rapidly along. New objects presented themselves, 
and the old faded from the view. 

At length we arrived at Lintz, distant about 
one hundred and twenty miles from the capital. 
We passed a day in this city, which ranks, in ex- 
tent and population, as the second in Austria Prop- 
er. It is well built, with large and handsome edi- 
fices, and favorably situated upon the Danube, 
which here, far more imposing than at Vienna, 
rolls onward in one broad, resistless stream. 

The fortifications at Lintz are curious and re- 
markably strong. We passed some time in exam- 
ining them. Recent events have taught the Aus- 
trian, that the eternal boundaries of nature are but 
a feeble obstacle to the ambitious ardor of hostile 
invasion, and the bitter lesson has not been lost 
upon him. 



SALTZBURG. 87 

We left Lintz at an early hour of the morning, 
and arrived at Saltzburg as the night closed in. 
Fierce was the contention of the elements, that, 
long ominous of evil, burst at last into fury as we 
neared the town. The rain fell in torrents, accom- 
panied by loud peals of thunder, while the light- 
ning's vivid darts illumined at intervals the angry 
face of nature. Speedily our vehicle dashed through 
the arched gateway that admits to the city, and 
drew up at the door of an hotel ; when, with all 
convenient haste, we proceeded to exchange the 
dripping discomforts of our present situation for 
the sweets that spring from a consciousness of 
snug quarters and a comfortable couch. 

Early in the ensuing day, we sallied forth to 
explore the curiosities of this singularly romantic 
town. Its situation is indeed exceedingly striking 
and picturesque. Perched upon a lofty eminence 
stands a stately castle, the citadel of the town. 
The strength of its outworks and its commanding 
position would render it, when well garrisoned, all 
but impregnable to attack. We visited it, and 
contemplated at leisure the busy world within. 
Here was every thing calculated to serve the pur- 
poses of War or of Religion. The chapel, decked 
with the holy emblems of the Catholic faith, was in 
close contiguity with halls, where shone the bur- 
nished implements of strife. The stern soldier and 
mitred priest were here in amity. We wandered 
through the numerous apartments of this gigantic 
fortress, and traced, with the assistance of a guide, 
its else labyrinthine windings. From some of the 



88 SALTZBURG. 

windows, we enjoyed views the most superb. The 
whole edifice appeared to me as a relic well worthy 
of those rude yet chivalrous ages, when men piled 
stone upon stone, not with a view to symmetry and 
elegance of architecture alone, but to the comple- 
tion of structures, whose solid masonry should roll 
back for centuries the inroads of time and invasion, 
and descend to remote posterity to attest the power 
that bade them first exist. 

Not far from Saltzburg, about nine miles, are to 
be seen the celebrated salt works of Hallein. An 
examination of these will most amply repay the vis- 
iter for the little trouble he must necessarily en- 
counter. To reach the entrance of the mine, you 
must ascend a lofty hill, along whose side is cut 
a path or road, of a sufficient width to admit, 
though but barely, a diminutive nondescript of a 
vehicle, the li'^e of which 1 had never seen before, 
nor have I since, that excursion. To this are har- 
nessed two animals of a size corresponding with 
the calibre of the vehicle ; and thus the luxurious 
traveller, while sitting at his ease, engrossed in 
contemplating the wild aspect that nature here 
assumes, is leisurely drawn to the summit of the 
mountain. Upon arriving at the mouth of the ex- 
cavation, you are furnished with a costume appro- 
priate for the nature of your intended subterranean 
expedition, and, preceded by a guide, torch in 
hand, you descend into the bowels of the earth. 
The manner of descent is diverse, according as the 
path becomes more or less steep. The most per- 
pendicular portions are thus traversed. You recline 



SALT WORKS OF HALLEIN. 39 

upon your back upon two smooth, rounded spars ; 
two ropes run parallel on either side ; embracing 
with each arm one of these, you slide swiftly 
down the steep. This is repeated three or four 
times. By the time you arrive at the last descent 
of this nature, your fears have all vanished, and 
you find this novel mode of burrowing not without 
its charm. When arrived where the previous ab- 
ruptness of descent gives way to a moderately in- 
clined plane, you resume the use of your feet, 
and carefully traverse the narrow path, of width 
sufficient to admit but one at a time. Ever and 
anon the guide pauses and directs your attention 
to the more striking exhibitions of the mineral, 
that sparkles with various hues upon the sombre 
walls. So profound is the darkness, that it seems 
well nigh impervious to the rays of your torch, 
whose faint glimmer, chasing it away but a few 
feet in advance, serves to render even more dismal 
the Egyptian obscurity. 

Moving on, we at length arrive to what I con- 
ceive the grand feature of the scene. Upon emerg- 
ing from the contracted path, a widened space 
opens before you ; the glare of lamps, placed there 
for the occasion, flickered over a pool of very Sty- 
gian blackness. A raft was floating on its bosom, 
and upon it stood a man, whom the excited imag- 
ination might picture as the Infernal Boatman of 
mythology. At our approach, he propelled his 
raft toward us, upon which embarking, we were 
speedily landed upon the opposite side. There 
was something positively startling in the whole 
12 



90 SALTZBURG. 

scene ; a something, that impresses itself upon the 
memory with ineffable power. 

The remainder of the distance, some eight hun- 
dred yards, was passed over with considerable ra- 
pidity. We seated ourselves astride a wooden horse 
provided with wheels, and in this condition were 
drawn with much swiftness to the extremity of 
the mine. The fair light of Heaven at length 
broke upon us, in lovely contrast with the dark 
and lurid scene we had but just witnessed. We 
emerged into the external world at the base of the 
mountain before mentioned. After settling with 
our guides and selecting sundry specimens of rock- 
salt exhibited for sale, we drove back to Saltzburg 
well pleased with the excursion. 

The scenery everywhere in this vicinity displays 
an Alpine grandeur ; but Nature, otherwise so pro- 
fuse in her gifts, has here bestowed them with a 
sparing hand upon man. His stature is diminu- 
tive, and he is subject to the painful deformity of 
goitre. Large numbers of Cretins, a name given 
to those who are idiots from their birth, are to be 
found in these regions. The Cretin seldom ex- 
ceeds four feet and a (ew inches in height, and 
no ray of light illumes his benighted soul ; occa- 
sionally whole families are found in this lamentable 
condition. It seems, indeed, most remarkable, 
that, with an elevated country and the pure air of 
the mountains to inspire, a people should be vis- 
ited by such fearful maladies ; but, to our finite 
perceptions, Nature seems often to delight in the 
strangest anomalies. 



GARDENS AND STATUES. 91 

There are many objects of interest, besides those 
I have mentioned, to detain the tourist at Saltz- 
burg. From my own experience I should say, 
that, in making the tour of Europe, the traveller 
will nowhere discover a town, whose situation is 
more beautifully romantic and picturesque. Here 
are palaces and churches ; here are gardens also ; 
one I remember in particular, most ingeniously 
laid out. In one part of it was a fairy grot. En- 
tering, you find abundance to surprise and mystify. 
There is the shrill carol of birds, proceeding from 
you know not where, and, of a sudden, innumerable 
jets d?eau spring from their latent conduits, and, 
unless warned by your guide of the danger, your 
curiosity is rewarded by a good drenching. One 
little circumstance amused me. There was a 
statue, bearing upon its head a metallic vase, after 
the semblance of a crown ; all at once, as it were 
through mysterious agency, the vase was raised 
and held suspended in air, by a jet of water, 
which, passing upward through the statue, was ap- 
plied so exactly to the centre of the crown, as to 
bear it motionless upon its sparkling top. At last, 
the force of the stream gradually subsiding, it 
slowly descended to its former position. 

The hotel, that great item in the traveller's 
diary, is very good at Saltzburg, and you are plen- 
tifully regaled with the delicious trout, that abound 
in the mountain streams in its vicinity. 

It was a beautiful day, when we left this gem 
of the mountains on our way to Munich, and 
cheerily our horses shortened the dividing space. 



92 MUNICH. 

At evening, being yet far distant from the city, 
we decided to stop for the night at an inn, whose 
exterior gave good promise, and resume our jour- 
ney at early dawn. Next day at noon found us 
in the Bavarian capital. The best hotel in this city 
bears the name of the Golden Stag. Its proprietor 
having once been chief artist in the culinary de- 
partment to Eugene Beauharnois, you may reason- 
ably expect to meet with good cheer, and such in 
truth do you find. Her Majesty, the Queen Mother 
of Naples, was a guest at the time. To amuse 
the royal dame, various diversions were contrived. 
Among others, I was present at one, certainly not 
over feminine in its character. A man was sta- 
tioned in the area of the hotel, with a matty cover- 
ing upon his back ; some few yards behind him, 
a savage dog was with difficulty restrained by his 
keepers ; upon a given signal, the animal was 
freed from confinement, and, springing furiously 
forward, he instantly tore the man to the ground. 
The intervention of the keepers alone prevented 
further injury. This scene was repeated several 
times for the edification of her Majesty, who 
appeared tolerably well satisfied with the exhibi- 
tion. In person, the Queen is short and of prodi- 
gious rotundity, with a countenance whose rubi- 
cund tint denoted no particular dislike to the in- 
spiriting cordials of her own sunny realm. She 
was conversing familiarly in French with a gen- 
tleman at her side, of handsome exterior, probably 
a compagnon de voyage. The object of her excur- 
sion to Germany was said to be, Madame la 



DUCHESSE DE BERRI. 93 

Duchesse de Berri, at that time residing at Ischel, 
a watering-place not far from Munich. They are 
nearly connected, and, while paying a visit to her 
kinswoman, the Queen took occasion to testify her 
respect to the German courts by honoring them 
severally a few days with her royal presence. 
With regard to la Duchesse, I of course felt no 
small curiosity to see a lady, who has played so 
conspicuous a role in French politics ; but I had 
not that pleasure. She was living secluded in the 
small post-town of Ischel for the benefit of its 
waters. There must, I should think, be a strong 
bond of sympathy between this lady and another, 
Maria Louisa, once consort of Napoleon. Fortune 
had placed these two women in the most com- 
manding situations, and rudely has she destroyed 
the fabric that upheld them ; both might reason- 
ably have expected to see the reins of government 
in the hands of their respective children, and heart- 
rending must have been the bitter disappointment. 
Oh, mutable Fortune ! what puppets are we in 
thy hands, and with what wayward caprice dost 
thou direct the course of our destinies. 

But to return. Of Munich, I think it may be 
said, here is the best built town in Germany ; its 
broad streets, its handsome edifices, and airy squares, 
all confirm this beyond a doubt. It is the honest 
pride of the King to embellish and adorn his cap- 
ital, as far as his royal revenue and his own private 
fortune will allow. The chefs-cPceuvre of modern 
sculpture ornament the churches and halls of stat- 
uary at Munich. Nor are there wanting the fault- 



94 MUNICH. 

less relics of that olden time, which gave birth to 
the Apollo and the Venus. Without the confines 
of classic Italy, there can nowhere be found more 
chaste and beautiful productions of the wondrous 
power that moulds the marble into life, than at 
Munich. The genius of Canova is fitly represent- 
ed among a collection of statuary and paintings, 
formerly the property of Prince Eugene Beauhar- 
nois. 1 had the pleasure of seeing his famous 
group of the Graces. It is difficult to conceive any 
thing more harmonious and exquisite, than these 
lovely emanations of the artist's fancy. The per- 
fect symmetry and soft, rounded outline of the 
figures, with the poetic grouping of the whole, 
combine to form a piece unsurpassed in the annals 
of modern art. There seems ever to float around 
the chisel of Canova an Italian fervor, tempered 
with a delicacy the most refined. When he imaged 
forth the fair form of woman, there was nothing of 
the gross and palpable, such as Rubens has delight- 
ed to delineate ; under his refining touch, the baser 
metal seems transmuted into gold. Like the im- 
mortal Raffaelle, he has clothed the terrestrial form 
with a warm, yet seraphic loveliness, enchaining 
the soul rather than the senses. It is as though 
the fleeting vision of the rapt poet were seized 
in its intensity and wrought into marble, as, with 
heated fancy, he pictures forth, in all its ineffable 
attraction, the mysterious object of an ideal love. 

The churches at Munich are generally handsome. 
There are two or three really splendid, rich with 
glowing frescoes and costly decorations. In one 



PALACES. 95 

of them is to be seen the tomb of Prince Eugene 
Beauharnois, adorned with some fine pieces of 
sculpture by Thorwaldsen, emblematic of the vir- 
tues of the illustrious dead. There are numerous 
palaces in the Bavarian capital. By far the most 
superb is one, which was on the eve of being com- 
pleted at the time of our visit, and indeed a most 
fit habitation for majesty to dwell in. This pal- 
ace is not of those huge, yet useless dimensions, 
that former ages have delighted in ; it is an edifice 
whose external appearance indeed pleases the eye, 
but within, it may be denominated a perfect bijou, 
light, airy, exquisitely finished. On the walls are 
paintings, illustrative of incidents in mythology. 
You perceive not here that heavy, cumbersome 
splendor, which characterizes the palaces of Ver- 
sailles or Berlin. There is not such a profusion of 
gilding, as is usually found in royal residences ; 
but the paintings more than compensate for its 
absence. After taking an entire survey of the in- 
terior, which is courteously permitted the stranger, 
you cannot fail to pronounce it chaste and beautiful, 
and an additional evidence of that correct and pure 
taste, for which, happily for his subjects and the 
world, that is, the travelling part of it, the monarch 
has ever been distinguished. 

The theatre, a large and handsome edifice, is in 
close proximity to the palace. I visited it one 
evening, and had the pleasure of hearing, for the 
first time in Germany, the wild strains of Der 
Freischutz, given in the native language of its com- 
poser ; the music of the piece was executed with 



96 MUNICH. 

much effect. I can still recall one air, which mem- 
ory even now makes to vibrate on my ear with a 
silvery sweetness. The young girl, that sang it, 
could not boast, perhaps, the compass or power we 
look for in a prima donna, but from her lips there 
fell accents as soft and thrilling as the mysterious 
voice, that trembles on the chords, which Zephyr 
gently wooes. 

His Bavarian Majesty prides himself upon the 
excellence of his Opera, for in music, as well as 
the other fine arts, it has been his aim to place 
his capital upon an equal footing with the wealth- 
ier and more populous cities of the Continent. A 
little without the thickly inhabited part of the city 
are beautiful grounds, through which meanders a 
rapid stream, intersecting them in the most pic- 
turesque manner. These grounds have received 
the name of the English Garden. It is a de- 
lightful spot for a drive ; numerous shaded roads, 
just wide enough to admit your carriage, traverse 
the garden in every direction. Sheltered from the 
sun's ardent rays, you may here while away an 
hour or two, in the enjoyment of what Dr. Johnson 
has classed among the greatest of luxuries, reclin- 
ing back in your carriage, with the agreeable con- 
sciousness of getting rapidly over the ground at 
others' expense. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

Journey to Frankfort. — Observations on the City. — Visit to the 
Opera. — The Bridge. — Garden*. — Wiesbaden. — Johannisberg. 

— Chateau of Prince Metternich. — The Grape and Wines. — Bin- 
gen. — Journey to Coblentz. — Baronial Castle. — Ehrenbreitstein. 
Jealousy of the Prussian Government illustrated. — Military Guides 
and Arrangement. — Passage down the Rhine. — Account of the 
Boatman. — Nonnen worth. — A Castle and its Legend. — Drachen- 
fels. — Boim. — The University. — Cabinet of Natural Curiosities. 

— Cologne. — The Cathedral. — Tomb of the Three Kings of Co- 
logne. — The Crucifixion of St. Peter by Rubens. 

After a week had passed away in the agree- 
able occupation of surveying the curiosities, of 
promenading the spacious streets, and roaming 
among the picturesque environs of Munich, we 
decided to resume our line of march for Frankfort 
and the Rhine. 

The distance from the capital of Bavaria to the 
city of Frankfort is about two hundred and forty 
English miles. This we accomplished in three 
days, taking advantage of the freshness of early 
dawn, to commence our journey, and concluding 
with the closing day. In this way, the mere trav- 
elling may be rendered a pleasure, whereas, by 
public conveyance, ceaseless night and day, like 
the wheels of Time, it becomes a severe and de- 
pressing labor. By the evening of the third day, 
our journey was achieved, and, rolling along the 
darkening streets of Frankfort, our vehicle drew 
13 



98 FRANKFORT. 

up at length at the extensive Hotel d' Angleterre. 
I felt a peculiar glow of satisfaction, upon arriving 
at this point of my tour. A feeling, like that we 
experience after long absence on the near approach 
to the home of our youth, came over me. I had 
roamed, far and wide, into the heart of a mighty 
continent; much had I seen of novel and interesting; 
and now, with the impressions yet warm on my mind, 
I had thus far returned, — thus far been shielded by 
an ever watchful Providence. Separated from me 
but by a short interval, were flowing the rapid waters 
of that noble stream, whose, presence I would hail 
as the termination of the traveller's toil and fatigue. 
There is to me a greater pleasure in the retrospec- 
tion of past happiness, such as one feels to be the 
well-earned prize of sustained and persevering ex- 
ertion, than even in the bright and glowing pos- 
session. And now there touched my mind, with 
sweetest influence, the recollection of those sun- 
nier intervals, that had illumined the checkered 
past. The eve of my arrival at the city of the 
Maine was beautiful. I had seated myself at the 
open window, and, giving the reins to fancy, was 
soon lost in reverie, when the train of thought 
was interrupted by a band of music, slowly march- 
ing along the street. It was numerous and com- 
posed entirely of horns, whose mellow notes fell 
with sweet concord upon the else pervading silence. 
They marched onward, and the cheering sounds 
faded at length in the distance. Time was, when 
the streets of Frankfort resounded with the inspir- 
ing peal of martial music, and the stern clang of 



VISIT TO THE OPERA. 99 

armour, — when Knight and Retainer left desolate 
Home and Hall, to hurl the insulting infidel from 
Jerusalem's walls, and rescue from the Paynim's 
grasp the Holy Sepulchre, where once lay the 
Saviour of the world. Centuries have rolled away, 
and the city, once so imposing in its military array, 
is now exclusively a commercial mart. It is the 
residence of extensive bankers, and exerts no in- 
considerable effect upon the exchanges of Europe. 
It possesses a few fine streets, and is altogether 
better provided with hotels than any city ©f similar 
size upon the Continent. The general appearance 
of the place, as surveyed from an eminence, is 
strikingly antique. There are streets in Frankfort, 
that a stranger might well nigh shudder to pass 
through, in the obscurity of night. They are prin- 
pally situate in the Jews' quarter, and surely the 
imagination could scarce devise a locality better 
suited for the commission of dark deeds, or a peo- 
ple, whose entire appearance would indicate a 
greater willingness to perpetrate them. 

Among the sources of amusement here, I must 
of course mention the Opera, which is considered 
good. I attended it, and listened to a long, tedious 
German piece, which entirely exhausted my small 
stock of patience. It was exceedingly warm that 
evening, and the house was crowded almost to suf- 
focation ; — indeed, so great was the jam, that 
once fairly in, it was odds against the making good 
your retreat ; so I remained perforce, and contem- 
plated the patient endurance stamped upon the 
quiet countenances of the audience, which of itself 



100 FRANKFORT. 

would have been a sufficient treat, had my own 
personal circumstances been less inconvenient. 
There they sat and listened, seemingly as delighted 
as though their ears were drinking in the exquisite 
strains of Rossini or Auber, instead of a succession 
of cold, meaningless, uninteresting sounds, expres- 
sive, I presume, of that all but inexpressible thing, 
German senlimentalism. 

After a man has made the tour of Germany, and 
observed the people under various aspects, he can 
very easily conceive, what before must have ap- 
peared rather odd, namely, that a scholar can 
waste forty or fifty years of his life upon criticizing 
a single work, or providing it with notes ; so ex- 
tremely phlegmatic does the national temperament 
appear to be. I am not in the least astonished at 
the animosity, which has subsisted between the 
German and Frenchman, for surely no two people 
can be more dissimilar ; nor do I think the success 
that has attended the latter upon the field a matter 
of any surprise; for it would seem to me, that, while 
the German was preparing to wheel, or issuing 
orders for a charge, an active enemy might find 
time to sabre a moiety of his lines. 

The bridge, that spans the Maine at Frankfort, 
is a long and massive structure. On either side 
may be seen patrolling the soldiers of Austria and 
Prussia ; these powers having kindly consented to 
make arrangements for securing the peace of the 
worthy citizens of Frankfort, who, from recent 
circumstances, had demonstrated their inability to 
maintain it themselves. The city has thus virtually 



WIESBADEN. 101 

lost its freedom ; it yet possesses the shadow, but 
the substance is not. It is a free town only in 
the name. 

You may here enjoy an agreeable saunter in the 
pretty gardens, which occupy the site of the ancient 
ramparts. In truth, it is a pleasing transmutation. 
Flora now holds sway on the spot, where float- 
ed the red standard of war over its strong-hold. 
These gardens or promenades are extensive, encir- 
cling, like a boulevard, a large portion of the city. 
We remained two or three days at Frankfort, and 
then took carriage for Wiesbaden, of warm-bath 
celebrity, as its name imports. It is a pretty place, 
and much resorted to by the moving world of fash- 
ion. The Kursaal, a large, fine building, is the 
centre of attraction. Here the beau monde (the 
luxury of bathing over) flock, in great numbers, 
to avail themselves of the many modes it offers for 
killing that arch enemy, Time. Under its spacious 
roof, this edifice embraces, bathing and promenad- 
ing necessarily excepted, all that Wiesbaden offers 
of gayety and life. It contains an immense and 
magnificent saloon, that answers the double pur- 
pose of a ball-room and a salle a manger. When 
lighted for an assembly, the effect is very brilliant. 
To the American, imbued with the simpler man- 
ners of his own republic, the premier coup deceit 
of a scene like this is not a little striking. The 
large and splendidly illuminated salons, filled with 
a gay concourse, that owns each tongue and nation 
of civilized Europe, music, dance, play, and the 
feast, all are here. The passion for gambling, a 



102 JOHANNISBERG. 

vice that would seem inseparably connected with 
fashionable watering-places, is here indulged to a 
ruinous extent. You want no other proof of this, 
than that which is written upon the flushed and 
excited countenance, or revealed by the speaking 
eye. In close proximity to this temple of dissipa- 
tion, extends a long line of boutiques, where are 
displayed, in pompous variety, the usual list of 
trinkets, pictures, and souvenirs de place, which 
watering-places ever exhibit, to attract the notice 
and lighten the purse of the thoughtless visitant. 
Leaving Wiesbaden and its attractions, we directed 
our course toward Geisenheim, where we intended 
to cross the Rhine for Bingen. We halted, for 
some brief space, at the famed villa of Johannis- 
berg, which lay but little out of the immediate 
route. Entering the Chateau of Prince Metternich, 
we were enabled, through the kindness of an old 
domestic, to take a survey of its numerous apart- 
ments. They are furnished rather tastefully ; but 
not in a style, which would seem to correspond 
with the grandeur of the princely possessor. The 
situation of the villa is truly charming, crowning 
the brow of an eminence, that overlooks the fairest 
valley in the world, " the Rheingau," studded, as 
far as eye can reach, with hamlets, villages, and 
vineyards, and spread with the smiling verdure 
that attests the stately Rhine. Johannisberg is yet 
more renowned for the rare fruit which clusters on 
its vine-clad hill, than even for its commanding 
beauty of situation. The cultivation of this choice 
grape is an affair of no trifling importance ; the 



THE GRAPE AND WINE. 103 

clusters are left to ripen on the vine, until, by their 
own weight, they fall to the ground ; they are 
then thrown together, into vessels adapted for the 
purpose; thus the richest juice alone escapes. This 
is carefully preserved, a fitting gift to grace the 
royal board ; the grapes, in this manner deprived 
of the most valuable of their burden, are . then 
pressed, and there results an agreeable wine, but 
of a quality much inferior to the first. 

As in duty bound, we demanded of the ancient 
butler a bottle of his best, which, being introduced, 
with the satisfactory passport of the Prince's seal, 
was duly cracked upon the spot, and, although its 
force on this occasion was expended among three, 
still did the potent juice maintain its proud supe- 
riority and prove, entirely to our satisfaction, that 
its high-sounding title, as commander-in-chief of the 
sparkling Rhenish confederacy, was well deserved. 
Thus, having made meet oblation to the presiding 
Genius of the place, we tore ourselves away from 
this modern Parnassus, and, filled with poetic fan- 
cies, rode cheerily on to where the village of Gei- 
senheim extends its scattered buildings to the brink 
of the sweeping Rhine. Here we crossed the 
river in a large, flat-bottomed boat, and were safely 
landed at Bingen. Having heard much of the fine 
points de vue to be met with in this place, and its 
immediate vicinity, we provided ourselves with a 
guide, and vigorously commenced the work of scal- 
ing those heights, the views from which he deemed 
would best reward our exertions. In the afternoon, 
we again crossed the Rhine, and clambered up 



104 BINGEN. 

the heights of Rudesheim. All along, ridge upon 
ridge, well nigh to the summit, jou behold the lux- 
uriant and carefully nurtured vines, whose luscious 
grape yields the famed wine that bears its name. 
Surmounting these continued ridges, and overstep- 
ping the tangling vines, we attained at length a 
spot, where stood the ruins of what was once a 
castle, overhanging the dizzy precipice and foam- 
ing river below ; for here, its bounds compressed, 
the Rhine rushes with furious violence against a 
protruding section of the rocky shore, and, rebound- 
ing from the shock, whirls, with rapid and foaming 
eddies, far in the distance. From these ruins, a 
splendid view is obtained of Bingen, the adjoining 
country, and of the noble stream that flows afar, 
with calm, unruffled current, until, goaded by its 
narrowed limits, and lashed into fury by unseen 
rocks, it dashes, with frightful violence, against the 
adamantine barrier at your feet. But, although thus 
much was presented to the admiring eye, still the 
landscape was circumscribed ; for the mountain's 
dark form, but yet half surmounted, necessarily 
screened much from the view. Again we com- 
menced the toilsome work of ascent, and at length, 
almost breathless with exhaustion, I planted foot 
upon the summit. Oh, the glorious spectacle which 
there burst upon my vision ! The last rays of the 
setting sun were bathing in mellow light the ra- 
diant face of nature. The water far beneath was 
discerned winding its way, stripped of half its 
volume and all its angry murmur. Distance had 
dissolved away all that was harsh in the character 



JOURNEY TO COBLENTZ. 105 

of the scene, and the harmonious loveliness, that 
should seem to surround and hallow the " Happy 
Valley," alone was there. 

From Bingen we leisurely pursued our way 
along the diversified bank, intending thus to follow 
the river's sinuous course as far as Coblentz. We 
halted at the more remarkable localities, and inves- 
tigated them as far as opportunity offered. 

I remember me of one baronial castle, perched, 
as it were in mid air, upon a shelving plain, that 
jutted from the bosom of a lofty mountain. In 
order to reach it, you must overcome a rugged and 
forbidding acclivity. This done, we stood at length 
before the massive gate ; free ingress was politely 
allowed us, and we roamed through the various 
apartments, excepting those tenanted at the time 
by the noble possessors. There they were, — the 
spears, the coats of mail, and all the grim trap- 
pings of war, now rusting and inactive, but once 
busy participators in the fray and turmoil of the 
Feudal Age, when their rude intervention gave its 
color to justice, and their strength to the laws. 
In the small court-yard of the fortress, we saw 
the prince, attended by two or three of his friends, 
himself modestly attired in the green garb of a 
belted forester. He is very nearly related to the 
reigning family of Prussia. In one part of the 
castle, there are mounted a few pieces of cannon, 
one of which is discharged each time the steam- 
boat passes. I recollect, that subsequently, upon 
passing the castle on my way to Mayence, in addi- 
tion to the discharge of ordnance, a white kerchief 
14 



106 COBLENTZ. 

was waved from the lofty embrasure by a lady's 
fair hand, much to the astonishment and admira- 
tion of some English gentlemen on board, who, 
while confessing themselves delighted at the con- 
descension of the German nobility, wondered how 
long it would be before their own unbending aris- 
tocracy would stoop to so levelling an act. After 
a few hours' ride, we arrived safely at Coblentz, 
and were speedily accommodated with comfortable 
lodgings at an excellent hotel, which looks out upon 
the broad waters of the Rhine. 

The evening of my arrival at Coblentz was se- 
renely beautiful. The delicious air seemed charged 
with the balmy perfumes, which the summer's 
genial breath exhales in this favored clime. I left 
my hotel, and walked abroad ; the rushing river, 
as it swept beneath the bridge upon which I stood, 
seemed even more majestic and lovely than it was 
wont. Opposite, the stately rock of Ehrenbreit- 
stein reared its proud battlements, once the fated 
mark against which were directed the dread mis- 
siles of Famine and War. Now it stood wrapped 
in the profound and peaceful silence of the night. 
On the ensuing day, I visited this gigantic fortress, 
the strongest, perhaps, in Europe, if we except 
the portal of the Mediterranean, impregnable Gib- 
raltar. A guide attends you around the most in- 
teresting sections of the works, which strangers 
are allowed to visit ; for, of so jealous a nature is 
the Prussian government, that much is ever con- 
cealed from what is deemed the dangerous curiosity 
of visiters. The traveller usually takes away some 



JEALOUSY OF THE PRUSSIAN GOVERNMENT. 107 

trifling memorial of his visit to Ehrenbreitstein, such 
as hair rings with the name of the place wrought 
upon them, &.c, which are there presented him for 
a few kreutzer. The view from the fortress is sur- 
passingly fine, commanding the country for many 
miles about. I have said, that the Prussian gov- 
ernment is extremely jealous. In corroboration of 
this assertion, I will mention an incident, which 
occurred to me during my brief stay at Coblentz. 
I had contracted with a boatman for a passage 
down the stream as far as Bonn, with the privilege 
of stopping at such places as my inclination should 
dictate. My boat was to be ready early in the 
morning ; but, unwilling to leave the city without 
enjoying a view I had heard much extolled, I arose 
at early dawn, and sallied forth, armed with a 
domestique de place, in quest of my prospect. 
We had walked a long way, and nearly arrived 
at the desired spot, when all of a sudden further 
progress was prevented, by the interference of a 
company of soldiers, attached, probably, to a for- 
tress not far distant. Their commandant invited 
us, in a manner not to be declined, to the guard 
room, where he commenced a very animated con- 
versation with my valet, respecting what, I knew 
not. At length, upon moving off, I found there 
was an unexpected addition of one to our company. 
The new comer was a suspicious-looking fellow with 
a bayonet, who evinced a dogged determination to 
remain in very close contiguity to my person. Not 
relishing at all this proximity, I slackened my pace 
to take a glance at the picturesque scene around 



108 COBLENTZ. 

me, and allow my militaire to proceed. This move- 
ment seemed to excite the suspicion of those be- 
hind ; for another individual, in the same objec- 
tionable guise with the former, was instantly de- 
spatched to his aid, and, ranging themselves one 
upon each side, we were marched, double quick 
time, to the caserne of the commanding officer of 
the station ; and there, upon a representation of 
the case, the mistake was instantly perceived, and 
I released. It appears, that the grounds we were 
traversing, at the time of our unseasonable ren- 
contre with the guards, had been forbidden to 
strangers only a day or two previously, from the 
supposition or suspicion, that they had been visited 
lately by French spies. My domestique knew noth- 
ing of the circumstance, and not all his earnest 
expostulations, nor reiterated representations, that 
I was but an innocent and enthusiastic traveller, 
who had risen early and forgone his dejeuner, to 
catch a hasty glimpse of the majestic stream, with 
its adjacent hills and vales, as illumined by the 
rays of the rising sun ; — not all these assertions 
had the slightest effect. Their orders were per- 
emptory, and could not be disobeyed. As may be 
supposed, this mal-ti-propos rencontre considerably 
damped my enthusiasm, and, turning my back upon 
the scene of this last exploit, I hied me, without 
further delay, to where my boat lay moored, and, 
casting off, commenced, in no very enviable spirits, 
a descent down the rapid current of the Rhine. 

My boatman spoke French barely intelligibly, 
and his pronunciation was not a little disfigured 



VOYAGE DOWN THE RHINE. 109 

by a copious leaven of his own nasal German 
Nevertheless, with some difficulty, I succeeded in 
keeping up a verbal communication with him. He 
had been a soldier ; had served under Napoleon, 
in Italy and elsewhere ; but the broad stream, upon 
whose tranquil bosom we were swiftly gliding, 
had long been the theatre of the more peaceful acts, 
that made up the sum of his existence. Much did 
he deprecate the unwholesome innovation of steam- 
boats, which, beside their being so replete with 
danger, drove so many honest fellows out of em- 
ploy. With not a little of the curious and interest- 
ing tradition, in which the banks of the Rhine 
are so fruitful, he was well imbued. He pointed 
out to me the mountain fastnesses, from whose 
dark concealment, the " Robbers of the Rhine " 
were accustomed to precipitate themselves upon 
the unwary traveller, to plunder and destroy. In 
his younger days, at Mayence, he had seen fall 
the head of the robber chief, Schinderhannes, when 
a score of his band shared the fate of their leader. 
But to return from the boatman to myself; the 
first place where we laid by the oars was the small 
town of Niewied, which, however, gives its name 
to a prince. There is here a cabinet of natural 
curiosities, &.c, to take up an hour of the tourist's 
time. Again we glided along, without interrup- 
tion, until the picturesque beauty of the island of 
Nonnenworth, with its white, antiquated convent, 
peering from the leafy wall that incloses it, tempt- 
ed me to silence again the dripping oar. It is, 
in sooth, a most romantic spot, — that fairy islet, 



110 NONNEN WORTH. 

— and one admirably adapted, as it would seem 
to me, from its combination of sweet influences, 
to sooth the disturbed feelings of those, who, from 
prevalence of wordly ill, disappointment, or frail 
mishap, chose to sequester themselves from the 
world, and feed their sorrows in the gloomy silence 
of the cloister. Indeed, Tradition affirms, that 
tho nuns ever enjoyed a remarkable share of health, 
attributable no doubt to the extreme salubrity of 
the air, and the unrivalled beauty of prospect, 
which on every side greets the eye. 

Near the island, on an eminence that overlooks 
the convent, are still to be seen the ruins of a cas- 
tle, reared, says the legend, by a valiant knight, 
who, urged by pious zeal, bade adieu to his be- 
trothed, and repaired to the wars of Palestine. 
Tidings of his death at length reached her, and, 
despair overmastering all other emotions, she took 
the irrevocable vow, that consigned her to a living 
grave. He returned to claim his promised bride ; 
the wreath of glory encircled his brow, but it was 
her approving smile alone could give it value. 
Too soon he learned the fatal intelligence, and, 
heart-broken, reared with faithful hand that gloomy 
pile, from whence, while life endured, he gazed 
with that calm despair, which strikes deep its 
iron into the very soul, upon the walls that con- 
tained his adored ; and, when death came to ter- 
minate his sorrows, the last sigh that escaped his 
bosom was breathed for her he had so fondly loved. 
Thus runs the legend, which is touchingly alluded 
to by Bulwer in his " Pilgrims of the Rhine." 



DRACHENFELS. 1 1 1 

After musing a half hour amid the peaceful 
groves of this now deserted isle, I once more 
stepped into the boat, and shaped my course for 
where the " castled crag of Drachenfels ' rears 
high its towering head. Finding satisfactory ac- 
commodations at a village not far from the moun- 
tain's base, and the weather being inclement, I 
resolved to proceed no farther that evening, but 
await the ensuing dawn, to enjoy a prospect, 
which, of its kind, travellers are agreed in telling 
us, is nowhere to be surpassed. The morning 
came, but veiled in mists. Nevertheless, as there 
was no time to be lost, I decided to commence the 
ascent ; so, providing myself with a lascia pas- 
sare* a guide, and a donkey, I set out. The sun 
broke out at intervals, as we wended our way 
along the mountain's steep sides ; but, ere I had 
achieved the ascent, and set foot upon the summit, 
an envious mist, mantling all in obscurity, derobed 
from my view the lovely panorama that was spread 
out below. I remained some time in hopes it 
would disperse, but in vain. My guide indicated 
the direction of this place, and that. There, the 
spires of such a town were visible, — but my 
imagination was the only faculty that could be 
put in exercise, to corroborate his assertions ; so 
I was fain at length to bestride once more my 
diminutive beast, and thread the sinuous way 
adown the steep. Again my ready skiff was glid- 

* In order to ascend the Drachenfels, the traveller is compelled to 
purchase a permit ; for, ia this interesting country, even the beauties 
of nature are made to serve the rapacity of man. 



112 BONN. 

ing along the stream, and merrily pulled the oars- 
men, until we reached the classic town of Bonn, 
my place of destination. Here I settled with the 
boatman, and discovered too late, that his stories 
and flattering compliments were well charged in 
the account ; one cannot be called an beau jeune 
homme, (which he was pleased to designate me,) 
without paying for it, particularly on the Rhine. 
An hour or two was to elapse before the arrival of 
the steam-boat for Cologne ; and I passed the in- 
terval in roaming about the town, and visiting the 
principal places of interest. Among these stands 
conspicuous the University, which enjoys a Euro- 
pean reputation. Students are assembled here 
from all parts of the Continent and the Imperial 
Isles. In the vicinity of the University are agree- 
able walks, protected from the sun's rays by the 
thick foliage of trees. There is something in the 
sequestered walk or retreat, which is, in my mind, 
singularly in consonance with the very idea of a 
University ; whether it be, that this fancy is to 
be traced back for its birth to that remote age, 
when, in academic grove, Plato and Socrates were 
wont to teach their noble disciples, or whether it 
be from the idea, that the chainless mind soars, 
amid the populous solitude of Nature, to a loftier 
contemplation, I pretend not here to decide. 

There is, at Bonn, a cabinet of natural curiosi- 
ties, well worthy the stranger's attention. Indeed, 
I question whether there be, in any portion of the 
Prussian dominions, a more rare, complete, and 
better assorted collection than this. I was cice- 



CATHEDRAL AT COLOGNE. H3 

roned through the various apartments by an elderly 
female, who seemed not a little pleased at the 
warm eommendations I bestowed upon objects, to 
which her time and care were so much devoted. 
From Bonn I took the steamer for Cologne, — 
once proud Cologne. Here may yet be seen ves- 
tiges of that stupendous power, which once held 
the wide-spread regions of Europe in its firm em- 
brace ; whose mighty and well nigh imperishable 
landmarks have resisted the fire and the sword, 
and successfully battled for centuries with that 
arch-enemy of the material, destroying Time. 
Here, too, rises the massive monument that marks 
the Middle Ages, — the colossal Cathedral, unfin- 
ished, indeed, but magnificent in its very imper- 
fection. Had this edifice been completed, upon 
the plan originally intended, it would have stood 
to future ages, a wonder of the world ; but the 
design was too vast. Enter the church, and cast 
your eye upon its sombre and solitary grandeur. 
Directing your steps along the spacious nave, you 
advance to the further extremity, and reach at 
length the penetralia of the temple, which to unlock 
requires a silver key. Here Tradition holds the 
sway ; and the tomb of the Three Kings of Cologne, 
the Magi who humbled themselves before the in- 
fant Saviour of mankind, meets your eye. The 
heads of the wise men are yet to be seen, protect- 
ed from all meddlesome curiosity by an interposi- 
tion of glass ; they are of rather a dark hue, but 
possess, no doubt from the rubbing of the faithful, 
a splendid polish. The richness of the tomb is 
15 



1 14 COLOGNE. 

very remarkable ; it is composed, in a great meas- 
ure, of solid gold, and sparkles with a plenteous 
admixture of precious stones ; besides this, there 
are shown you other relics, gifts of a pious age, 
and of inestimable value ; clusters of jewels, of 
untold worth, gleam from the various emblems of 
the Catholic faith, that surround you. All this 
treasure is looked upon as most sacred. Any other 
use, than that of suffering it to remain idle, would 
be deemed sacrilegious, even were the proceeds 
arising from its sale to be directed towards per- 
fecting the noble pile. Thus it is in all Catholic 
countries. While the people are struggling in very 
indigence for their bread, the churches are brilliant 
with all that wealth, genius, or taste can devise 
and communicate ; and, despite their sufferings, 
the deluded populace seem to forget all for the 
privilege of being admitted to these costly shrines, 
.and of bowing down before the gilded images, 
which they are taught to venerate. 

From the top of the Cathedral, you have a fine 
view of the city. I remained there a considerable 
time, enjoying the beauty of the prospect spread out 
before me, and absorbed not a little in such mus- 
ings as the venerable edifice would naturally suggest. 
There I stood, upon its loftiest point, gazing upon 
the colossal proportions, which the march of centu- 
ries had developed. Here and there, the curt and 
stunted tree protruded from crevices, which Time 
had sunk in those stately walls. Of what changes 
had this mighty edifice been the massive landmark, 
from the time when the bold design was conceived 



RUBENS'S CRUCIFIXION OF ST. PETER. 115 

and acted upon of rearing it ! fit temple for the 
(then) universality of the religion it maintained, — 
to the present era, when, like itself, that religion 
is mouldering away. 

There are other objects well worthy the atten- 
tion of the stranger at Cologne ; among them 
stands conspicuous a picture, by the prince of mod- 
ern painters, Peter Paul Rubens. This magnifi- 
cent painting represents the crucifixion of St. 
Peter. It is looked upon by many as the master- 
piece of the great artist, and is of itself of suffi- 
cient excellence to repay one, even were there no 
further attraction, for a visit to Cologne. The 
agonizing nature of the subject is treated with a 
fidelity, that causes an involuntary shudder to creep 
over the spectator. In the Saint's expiring coun- 
tenance, the weakness and mortal agony incident 
to the man, appear lost in the holy joy and triumph 
of the Martyr, and already the pure effulgence of 
Heaven seems to have broken in upon the expect- 
ant soul. On the reverse of the painting, there 
is a copy of this masterly composition. As to 
drawing and coloring it is well enough, but how 
deficient in that indefinable spirit of life, that un- 
dying essence, which, springing warm and sponta- 
neous from the inspired touch of genius, we regard 
with reverence, as an immediate emanation from 
that Almighty Power, whose dread fiat bade the 
universal space awake from its primitive Chaos and 
teem with countless existences. 



CHAPTER IX. 

Journey to Mayence. — The Cathedral. — Manheim. — Heidelberg. — 
Castle built by Charlemagne. — View of the City. — Viewing uatu- 
ural Scenery at Sunset. — Companion from Holland. — Carlsruhe. 

— Baden. — The Castle. — Prospect from it. — An English Lady. 

— Beauty. — Strasburg. — The Cathedral. — View from it. — Ger- 
man Character of the City. — Remarks on Travelling. — Colmar. 

After a brief stay at Cologne, during which I 
was incessantly occupied in scouring the town with 
my valet de place, in search of the curious, I once 
more committed myself to the broad bosom of the 
stately river, and, with the united aid of steam 
and current, swept rapidly adown the legendary 
Rhine. The varied banks, now towering to a 
lofty ridge of hills, now spreading into the wide 
and cultivated champaigne, hurried swiftly by. 
There the lofty, castled ruin of what once was 
Power swelled proudly, for a moment, on the vis- 
ion, and as speedily vanished away. Further on 
the scattered village, with its solitary spire, arrests 
for a moment the attention ; and here, the travel- 
ler gazes upon the blackened edifices and crum- 
bling towers of what, now dwindled to a shade, 
was once the luxurious abode where Empire held 
her seat.* 

At length we come in view of Ehrenbreitstein's 
massive rock, and the white walls of Coblentz. 

* The once Imperial town of Boppart, now dwindled to a petty 
place of trade. 



JOURNEY TO MAYENCE. 117 

Here terminates the journey for the day. The 
next morning we resumed our course, and the 
sun's declining rays were gilding the roofs of 
Mayence, as we landed at the welcome pier. I 
remained in the ancient city two or three days, 
amusing myself, as well as might be, with saun- 
tering along the banks of the Rhine, and about the 
pretty and picturesque environs of the place. In 
the town itself, there is not much to admire. The 
streets are too narrow, and laid out with but little 
regularity and elegance ; and there are but few 
public buildings, which, either in size or architec- 
ture, have much to recommend them. The Ca- 
thedral, however, is a noble exception ; it has stood 
as it now stands for hundreds of years, imposing 
in its solemn grandeur and majestic proportions. 

Within the church are many tombs, around sev- 
eral of which History and Tradition have blended 
the tale of interest and romance. Mayence, thou 
art not now what once thou wert, when the elec- 
tric song of the fearless troubadour awoke the 
hearts of thy youths and maidens to glory and to 
love. The chivalry of past ages is extinct now 
upon the favored spot, from whence it whilome 
streamed so gallantly forth. But yet, in the mind 
of the scholar and the poet, is thy name, May- 
ence, embalmed in the memory of its past glories. 
Leaving the degenerate present, such an one recurs 
back to the period, when first dawned from within 
thy walls the light of that stupendous invention, 
that dissipated the moral darkness of a world, and 
taught mankind to think. 



118 MANHEIM. — HEIDELBERG. 

From Mayence, I pursued my way to Manheim. 
This is accounted one of the most regularly built 
towns in Germany ; the streets are straight, suffi- 
ciently broad, and garnished with handsome edi- 
fices ; there are also some fine churches. One I 
remember in particular, which impressed me as 
being a model of that exquisite, yet unpretending 
elegance, so in unison with our ideas of what a 
temple dedicated to such holy purpose, should be. 
The Electoral Palace is very spacious ; it contains 
many handsome rooms, and a fine chapel. The 
royal possessors were not present at the time of 
my visit, so I enjoyed the privilege of roaming at 
will through the varied and extensive range of 
apartments. Manheim can also boast a pretty 
theatre, not large, but well appointed, as in the 
generality of German cities. 

I quitted this city in the dusk of evening, and, 
after a few hours' ride, arrived at Heidelberg. 
The ensuing morning, I left my hotel betimes, and 
sauntered forth to take a survey of this singular 
town. Heidelberg is romantically situated at the 
base of a lofty mountain, upon the banks of the 
limpid Neckar. Its population may consist of ten 
or twelve thousand souls ; but the town, much com- 
pressed by the nature of its locality, spreads over 
but a comparatively small extent. The attention 
of the stranger at Heidelberg is speedily arrested 
by the ruins of that mighty castle, which even yet 
attests the greatness of its Imperial builder, — the 
gorgeous Charlemagne. The path by which you 
ascend to the ruin is steep and difficult ; but, once 



COLOSSAL RUINS AT HEIDELBERG. 119 

there, how amply is the tourist rewarded for his 
trifling exertion. I passed the rude and moulder- 
ing outworks, and gained at length the lofty ter- 
race, that commands the whole ; and here burst 
upon me, in all its majesty, the vastness of the 
scene. From this point, the filled eye measures 
the dizzy height of the massive battlement with 
its rich and curiously wrought facade, frowning 
above the fearful precipice it overhangs. Anon it 
pierces the depths of the gaping fosse, and the 
spectator involuntarily shudders lest the frail sup- 
port upon which he leans should fail, and precipi- 
tate him into the dreadful abyss. Rivet thy gaze, 
oh Man, upon these walls, now crumbling to de- 
cay, whose wonderful solidity and strength, would 
have laughed the siege to scorn, and hurled back, 
unscathed, the dread missiles of modern warfare ; 
and reflect how impotent, in their very strength, 
are the finite works of thy race, when contrasted 
with the omnipotence of God ; a flash of the red 
lightning of Heaven, and the proud monuments, 
which would have defied the corroding assaults of 
Time, melt into nothingness away, and the very 
places where they were are forgotten. So is it, 
and so will it be, until Time himself shall be 
merged in the abyss of eternity. I remained for 
hours absorbed in the contemplation of these mighty 
ruins, until the waning day admonished me it was 
time to quit the spot. 

Emerging from the massive portal, and winding 
along the side of the mountain, I struck at last 
upon a path that conducted me through the wood 



120 HEIDELBERG. 

to a lofty terrace, where were distributed seats 
for the accommodation of tired pedestrians. From 
this terrace I enjoyed a lovely and extensive view ; 
the town of Heidelberg was spread out like a 
map at my feet, and the rapid Neckar was rolling 
onward to the Rhine its transparent wave. Far 
off in the distance, like a silvery thread, might be 
discerned the paternal river, winding ever onward 
his swift and devious course. 

It is at a time like this, when the mellow twilight 
is shedding its soft yet saddening influence over all 
the scene, and such a scene, that the soul becomes 
more tremblingly alive to the beautiful in nature. 
It may be, perchance, that those vague images of 
the ideal, which seem ever to hover around a spot 
like this, are exercising over our reasoning faculties 
their mystic and unseen, yet most powerful influ- 
ence, disposing the mind to those dreamy, delicious 
reveries, which have but little in common with the 
dull and daily world of reality. It may be, that, 
peopling the wide solitude with creatures of its 
own, that wondrous power, the imagination, strikes 
upward with more untiring wing. It is certain, at 
least, whatever reason be assigned, that, to the 
lover of Nature, never does his fair mistress ap- 
pear more beautiful, than when, yet glowing in 
the warm tints of a setting sun, she prepares to 
put aside day's gorgeous robe, for the russet garb 
of eve. There are men, no doubt, who can look 
upon the fair or sublime in the natural world, and 
feel but little emotion ; not more, perchance, than 
might be excited by the view of a fine street or 



A TRAVELLING COMPANION. 121 

house ; but there are others, and it may be less 
happy, in whose bosoms the presence of external 
loveliness awakes the responsive chord, and causes 
it to vibrate with sweetest harmony. 

Upon descending to the hotel, my landlord in- 
formed me, that there was a young man, arrived 
that day, purposing to journey the same way with 
myself, who would like, if agreeable to me, to be 
for a time my travelling companion. I signified 
my assent, and was accordingly introduced to him. 
He was a young physician from Holland, directing 
his steps towards the head-quarters of his art, 
Paris, for the purpose of giving the last finish to 
his education. As is usual with his professional 
countrymen, he conversed with considerable fluency 
in several languages, and, in short, was quite an 
agreeable person for a compagnon de voyage. 

I quitted Heidelberg, its romantic valley and its 
haunted ruins, with regret, but the vocation of the 
traveller allows only a limited scope to such a feel- 
ing ; new sights intervene, and it speedily wears 
away. The next city where we halted to breathe 
and look about us was Carlsruhe ; it is a handsome, 
well-built town, of modern construction. There 
is something singular in its laying out ; the prin- 
cipal streets diverge in all directions from the Ducal 
Palace, as rays of light from a focus, giving the 
whole city somewhat the appearance of an out- 
stretched fan, as travellers have often remarked of 
it. In the original German, Carlsruhe signifies the 
rest of Charles, and the town is supposed to have 
owed its origin to the vow of a Royal hunter, who, 
16 



122 BADEN. 

exhausted by fatigue, found repose beneath the 
foliage of a tree, that grew upon its site, and after- 
wards, in gratitude to the hospitable spot, found- 
ed a city, whose name recalls the singular circum- 
stance of its origin. At present, Carlsruhe is a 
handsome, populous town, and capital of the Grand 
Duchy of Baden. 

From Carlsruhe we proceeded on to that most 
fashionable of fashionable watering-places, far-famed 
Baden-Baden. Although the season had passed its 
zenith at the time of our arrival, still, enough of 
brilliancy remained to convince us what that season 
must have been, at its height. As at Wiesbaden, 
there is here an extensive temple dedicated to the 
gay train of pleasures. Dissipation certainly pre- 
vails to a great extent at Baden ; many of the 
fashionable guests seem to divide their time be- 
tween the gaming-table and the ball-room, and 
vast sums of money daily change hands, through 
the help of rouge et noir and roulette ; still, on the 
surface, all appears gay and happy. 

In the evening there are brilliant reunions, where 
fair women and brave men circle in the voluptuous 
waltz, or glide through the soft mazes of the sen- 
timental quadrille ; in fine, Baden is a spot where 
the people appear determined to enjoy themselves 
at all hazards. 

In the large edifice before mentioned, there is 
a fine, spacious hall, appropriated as a salle a man- 
ger. Here every visitant at the place, who wears 
a tolerable coat, may be accommodated, at a rea- 
sonable price, with an excellent table d'hote, and 



THE CASTLE. 123 

the best wines that France and Germany can 
afford. The locality of this watering-place is very 
beautiful. Situated at one extremity of the Black 
Forest, it spreads along a smiling valley, whose 
verdant and luxuriant dress appears the more charm- 
ing from its strong contrast with the dark and 
frowning forms of the everlasting hills, that en- 
compass it around. 

On a towering eminence, not far distant from 
the village of Baden, is to be seen the celebrated 
Castle, which so much attracts the attention of the 
intelligent and curious visiter. We toiled up the 
rough ascent, and entered the deserted area ; the 
outer walls are yet standing, firm in their massive 
strength, yet the roof is gone and the interior 
wears a dilapidated appearance, but not that gen- 
eral character of ruin, which is so signally and 
fearfully impressed upon the gigantic remains at 
Heidelberg. The Castle stretches along the moun- 
tain's side to a considerable height, and you as- 
cend, sometimes by the welcome aid of rude steps 
of stone, sometimes along the steep and rugged 
path. At length the task is accomplished, and, 
arrived at the lofty turret that surmounts the bat- 
tlement, you look forth upon a landscape, such 
as the genius of a Claude or a Salvator might have 
conceived and immortalized. The Black Forest, 
with its undulating bosom, its dense and inky 
foliage, extends wide before you, until its sombre 
outline blends with the distant horizon. At your 
feet lies embosomed the little village you have but 
just quitted, its murmuring rivulet attenuated to 



124 BADEN. 

a thread. Beneath and around are the massive 
monuments of an iron age, — an age when the 
sword and the spear controlled mankind, and held 
in bondage the immortal mind ; but an age, withal, 
of noble daring, of chivalry and romance. How 
every thing is changed now. Centuries have rolled 
by to swell the volume of the past ; to the fierce 
encounter of the sword has succeeded the subtile 
warfare of the pen. Ingenuity and cunning now 
supply the place of nerve and sinew. Have we 
lost or gained by the exchange ? 

Long I lingered over this lovely prospect, and, 
reluctantly taking the last protracted look, that, 
alas, must come, however fair the object that rivets 
it, I commenced a descent adown the steep decliv- 
ity, and speedily found myself once more amid the 
fashion and glitter of the gay world at Baden. 
The spacious saloons were well filled ; there were 
cards, there was music, there was the dance. 
Radiant among the brilliant concourse was one, 
whose exquisite features and expression might have 
answered the ideal of poetic inspiration. She 
was English, and on her beautiful countenance 
were impressed the fairest characteristics of her 
nation's loveliness ; the tall figure, slight, yet 
faultless in its undulating outline, the rich profu- 
sion of golden hair, the soft blue eye, so elo- 
quent of meaning, the delicately rounded cheek, 
where the hue of the lily contended with the 
rose's faint tinge, — all were hers, and yet it was 
not altogether even this rare combination that so 
fascinated the gaze ; it was something beside. I 



THE MYSTERY OF BEAUTY. 125 

have often wondered what may be its precise 
nature, that mysterious power we call Beauty, 
which has so controlled the destinies of the world, 
from the distant date of Troy's famed war, and 
that after period, when the great Triumvir lost a 
world in dalliance with Egypt's dazzling queen, 
even to this more unimpassioned era, that Reason 
and Religion rule with milder sceptre. It is not 
perfect regularity of feature, it is not faultless sym- 
metry of form ; no, nor is it even expression. 
What then ? Can it not be, that, by a well nigh 
intuitive process, of which the grosser sense is 
unconscious, the mysterious soul within perceives, 
in the object upon which its energies are concen- 
trated, the presence of that congenial fire, which 
burns brightly in its own fearful composition, and 
flies forth to amalgamate and identify itself with 
it, impelled by an irresistible desire for the attain- 
ment of that perfect sympathy, without which it 
languishes, even with all its immortal and infinite 
capability to enjoy ? 

But we have digressed wide from our subject, 
and must return again to the routine. My friend 
and myself passed several days pleasantly in Ba- 
den, now roaming amid the lofty hills and dense 
umbrage of the Black Forest, now mingling with 
the fashionable loungers in the promenades or sa- 
loons, until, as all things human must have an end, 
we concluded to leave. Accordingly, one drizzly 
morning we ensconced ourselves snugly in a tight 
little box of a carriage, and set off at a round pace 
on the route for Strasburg, where we duly arrived 



126 STRASBURG. 

without adventure or accident. The hotel, which 
opened its doors to our luggage and selves, was, 
as is usually the case with provincial inns within 
the territories of la belle France, a large and to 
all appearance comfortless building, giving but lit- 
tle promise of good cheer or a hospitable reception. 
In both these important items, however, it is but 
fair to state, that the reality agreeably belied the 
promise. 

Strasburg is situated at a short distance to the 
westward of the Rhine ; its population is supposed 
to exceed fifty thousand souls. The city has a 
very ancient and rather a dilapidated appearance, 
embracing within its wide precincts, if we except 
the tomb and monument in honor of Marshal Saxe, 
and the famous Cathedral, scarce any thing to in- 
terest the stranger. The Cathedral is a most noble 
edifice ; its spire towers to the height of near five 
hundred feet, the whole is of hewn stone, light 
and graceful in the extreme. Indeed, so exquisite 
is the workmanship, that, at a trifling distance, 
relieved against a clear sky, it exhibits all the 
nicety and finish of fine lace work. It is, in truth, 
wonderful, that solidity and elegance should have 
been here so admirably consulted. Five hundred 
years have elapsed since that slender spire first 
reared its towering form toward the heavens. It 
has since been a mark for the storm and the tem- 
pest ; fierce lightnings have played about its sum- 
mit ; and the uprooting whirlwind has spent in vain 
its rage against that fairy-like fabric. In order to 
ascend the spire, you must receive a permit from 



THE CATHEDRAL. 127 

the Mayor of the city. After some trouble, we 
succeeded in obtaining the desired passport, and 
soon found ourselves winding along the lessening 
staircase, that conducts to the top. The body of 
the Cathedral itself is extremely lofty. When the 
ascent was completed to this point, we stepped 
forth upon the roomy promenade its roof affords, 
and looked abroad upon the extended and riante 
scene. The country around Strasburg is rather 
level, and too little diversified to merit the appel- 
lation of picturesque ; but even in this there was 
a variety to us, who had but just lost sight of the 
towering bluffs that mark the Rhine, and the som- 
bre demesnes of the Black Forest. The extended 
sweep of country was clad with the smiling ver- 
dure of the season, while here and there, from its 
luxuriant bosom, towered aloft in stately groups 
the majestic trees of Alsace, with their thick, 
spreading foliage, fancifully studding the landscape. 
In the midst of this unbroken plain, the fertilizing 
Rhine was urging on his impatient stream. As 
far as the horizon's extremest verge allowed the 
eye to roam, might be traced his glancing waters, 
as, sparkling in silvery sheen, they hurried on to 
their distant bourne. We ascended the turret as 
far as was practicable. Some weeks previous, it 
had been struck by lightning, and, though to all 
appearance not materially injured, the authorities 
had deemed it expedient to interpose their veto 
upon what might be deemed a dangerous curiosity. 
Neither entreaties nor money could prevail upon 
the inexorable warden to permit further progress. 



128 STRASBURG. 

It is customary among travellers to have their 
names inscribed on the turret walls ; this custom 
insures quite an emolument to the engraver, who 
receives so much per letter ; thus for three, four, 
or five francs, as the length of your appellation 
may be, you have the satisfaction of seeing your- 
self in the secure possession of a name among the 
loftiest. But it is time to leave this giddy eleva- 
tion, and resume our observations upon Terra 
Firma, 

The curious traveller, as he roams about the 
dingy streets of Strasburg, is struck with the pre- 
dominance of the German character in every thing 
he beholds. The city has been in the hands of 
the French, since the brilliant reign of their Grand 
Monarque, Louis Quatorze, and yet every thing is 
essentially German. Manners, customs, language, 
all attest the original source ; so difficult, so well 
nigh impossible is it to strike out and efface those 
ingrained impressions, that the deep-seated Love 
of Country creates in the human breast, transmit- 
ted as they are, with the vital principle, from fa- 
ther to son, down to remote posterity. 

We have a parallel instance in our more imme- 
diate vicinity. I allude to Canada. For many 
years, this country has been an appendage to the 
British Empire ; yet the traveller there will find 
prevalent the habits, the language, the very feelings 
of France. The people look upon their Insular 
rulers, not as friends to protect, but as tyrants to 
depress and enslave them ; and, let but the time 
and opportunity present, they will rise in a mass 
to throw off the hated yoke. 



COLMAR. 129 

At Strasburg my travelling companion quitted 
me for Paris. I must confess, that, once again in 
France, I felt a strong desire to relinquish my pro- 
jected course, and revisit the gay Capital. Like all 
other excitements, that of travelling, long continu- 
ed, exerts its wearing influence upon the body, and 
more especially the mind ; our mental faculties 
are taxed beyond the limits of healthy exertion in 
digesting the constant succession of novel and ex- 
citing material, which is ever offering. As is the 
case with our physical being, so is it with the 
nobler, — the intellectual. Occasional repose and 
relaxation are necessary, and essential to convert 
the varied and incongruous mass of aliment into 
healthy and nutritious food. From too great a 
tension, the mental elasticity becomes impaired, 
and variety itself degenerates into sameness. Nev- 
ertheless, on the borders of Switzerland, I could 
not turn my back on that romantic country ; so, 
having philosophically discussed the pros and cons, 
and appropriated to myself the parts of judge and 
jury, I decided the matter by stepping into the 
diligence for Basle. The weather was drizzly, 
the roads heavy, and we made but slow progress 
in our lumbering vehicle. After a tiresome ride 
of several hours, we reached Colmar, capital of 
one of the departments of Alsace. This is a town 
of twelve or fifteen thousand inhabitants, dingy and 
dirty enough ; two or three hours were consumed 
before the diligence was ready to start anew. I 
passed the interval partly at the table dliote of the 
hotel, partly in strolling along the sombre streets, 
17 



130 BRIGHT MOMENTS IN TRAVEL. 

as far as my fears of not being able to retrace the 
darkening way would allow me to proceed. At 
length, to my great satisfaction, the postilion 
sounded the welcome call, that summoned us once 
more a nous mettre en route. Certes, taken in the 
abstract, it cannot be deemed a pleasurable method 
of employing the slow-pacing hours of night, that 
of rolling them away in a stagecoach. In order 
to relish this mode, a man must be the possessor 
of an unruffled conscience, or else endowed with 
what is equivalent, a most quiescent state of nerves. 
There is something in the rumbling of wheels, the 
cracking of whips, mingled with the discordant 
notes of steed and driver, strangely inimical to 
the soothing influence of sleep. Yet will Time fly 
swiftly bv, however we load his untiring wings. 
The sable mantle of night is gradually withdrawn ; 
the first misty grey of early dawn ushers into birth 
another day ; the golden streaks, that shoot athwart 
the sky, herald the rise of another glorious sun, 
and lo ! a World is awakened from its slumber. 

While in contemplation of these admirable phe- 
nomena, and not the less so for their being thus 
constantly repeated, perchance is the way-worn 
traveller more to be envied than the man of ease, 
who consumes away the day's bright youth in 
dreamy lethargy, all unconscious of that soft, elas- 
tic balm, which Nature diffuses through his bosom, 
who early wooes her charms. But this is a matter 
of taste, and I shall not further discuss it ; de gus- 
tibus non est disputandum, saith the old Latin. It 
is a good axiom, therefore we will once more to 
our journey for the venerable city of Basle. 



CHAPTER X. 

Basle. — The Drei Konige von Coin. — Disappointed Travellers. — 
Remarks on Basle. — Fellow Travellers to Berne. — Stop of the 
Diligence at Midnight. — Remark of Diderot. — Scenery near 
Berne. — Promenade. — Lausanne. — Rousseau. — His Concep- 
tion of Julie. — Lake of Geneva. — Gibbon. — Description and 
Account of Lausanne. 

The morning was not far advanced, when our 
vehicle rolled in over the narrow, antiquated thor- 
oughfares of Basle. Sonorously did the postilion 
crack his whip, and, cheerily dashing forward with 
accelerated speed, the well nigh jaded animals 
acknowledged the congenial sound. We drew up 
at the bureau de diligence, and I lost no time in 
exchanging my present accommodations for the 
more comfortable and stationary ones to be enjoyed 
at the Drei Konige von Coin, reputed the best 
hotel in Basle. If for no other reason, I should 
have certainly selected it for the name. Having 
so recently returned from a visit to Cologne, 
where, in its Cathedral, I beheld the tomb of those 
three redoubtable Magi and their three heads like- 
wise, I had not as yet been able to divest myself 
of the sympathy that any thing appertaining to 
them would naturally tend to excite. 

The situation of this hotel is agreeable and com- 
modious. It fronts upon one of the principal 
streets, and, directly in its rear, course the career- 



132 BASLE. 

injr waters of the impetuous Rhine, in such close 
proximity, that from jour window, with rod and 
fly, you might draw the speckled trout (supposing 
there were any) from hi> native element with the 
utmost convenient 

It. was the reason for travelling. Switzerland 
was covered with its annual swarm of tourists, 
and the Drei Kifnige von Coin had its full share. 
A hotel, when well patronized, is generally well 
superintended, and vice verso. ; consequently we 
had nothing to complain of, respecting either 
lodgings or table d'hote, at the "Three Kin^s." 
Among the company, as it were by sympathy, I 
speedily singled out a compatriote of mine own, a 
very stout, elderly lady, whose husband had been 
long settled as a merchant in Paris. Having heard 
the romantic scenery that abounds in Switzerland 
much extolled, the worthy pair resolved at length 
to achieve an excursion into this El Dorado of 
their picturesque imaginings, and, at the time of 
my visit to Basle, they had actually killed some 
months in this romantic country, and, anions other 
things, had most effectually assuaged their longings 
for the Sublime. The old lady assured me, with 
a most grave and serious countenance, that Rumor 
with her thousand tongues had most wilfully dis- 
torted the truth. She (the lady, not Rumor,) had 
seen nothing but an endless chain of mountains, 
over which it was such tedious work travelling, 
and a constant succession of ponds, which the peo- 
ple in their simplicity termed lakes; and, as for the 
cities one naturally expects to see in a country 



TRAVELLERS IN SWITZERLAND. 133 

one has heard so much talked of, pshaw ! all their 
cities together, five times over, would not make 
one Paris. She had resided some time in Zurich, 
and was there informed, that, at a certain season 
of the year, the women in that city were attacked 
with wasting melancholy, and under its dark in- 
fluence were in the habit of resorting to suicide ; 
thus bidding a simultaneous adieu to both terres- 
trial sorrow and fleshly tabernacle. Fearing that, 
the same unhappy result might obtain in her case, 
she lost no time, upon the advent of the unpropi- 
tious season before alluded to, in leaving a very 
respectable interval, as a cordon sanitaire, between 
herself and the ill-fated city, and had thus far ar- 
rived (at Basle) on her way home, having provi- 
dentially completed alive the tour of this much 
misrepresented country. 

It is true enough, that a long residence in Paris, 
with the daily custom of its numerous comforts 
and innumerable luxuries, tends much to unfit one 
for an agreeable sojourn in any other part of the 
European continent. II nhj a quhin Paris, et fy 
dens, says the play, and so it is. Yet, with all due 
allowance for this, I could not but be considerably 
amused at the (to me) humorous recital of peevish 
disappointment, experienced by this good lady, as 
her unaccustomed eye glanced over the soul-stirring 
tableau of Swiss scenery, and at her nervous anx- 
iety to enter again the barriers of the great city, 
where, satisfied with its miniature icorld, she might 
lose the remembrance of her ill-omened excursion, 
in the peaceful enjoyment of the true to zaAoV, Rest. 



134 BASLK. 

The city of Basle is probably the most ancient 
one of any note in Helvetia. In its vicinity have oc- 
curred many of those heroic and memorable encoun- 
ters, that marked the long-continued and desperate 
struggles of the Swiss for liberty. Within its walls 
were born many of those great men, whose several 
careers have shed an unfading lustre over the land 
of their birth, and whose senseless ashes yet con- 
secrate a site, whence, alas, the greatness has for 
ever departed. The Cathedral is a fine old edifice, 
interesting chiefly to the traveller from the fact, 
that within its enclosure rest the mortal remains 
of Erasmus. As a city, stripped of the reminis- 
cences that cling to it, Basle presents but little to 
detain the modern traveller. Its narrow, gloomy 
streets, its dingy and seemingly tottering edifices, 
can adduce no other claim to interest than their 
antiquity. 

Leaving Basle after a brief stay, 1 set out 
upon the route for Berne. My travelling com- 
panions were an elderly English gentleman, his 
better half, and their mutual son. The English- 
man was a good specimen of the true John Bull 
breed, in the middling class of society. As for 
French and German, he was entirely innocent of 
any acquaintance with either of those outlandish 
tongues, esteeming honest English the only lan- 
guage which a man of sense should condescend to 
clothe his ideas in. The son was a stalwart youth, 
who rode, if I may be excused the expression, a 
perfect steeple-chase upon the hobby of pedestrian- 
ism. According to his story, he had threaded on 



FELLOW TRAVELLERS TO BERNE. 135 

foot the frightful defiles of the Schwatzwald, and 
many marvellous adventures had he to relate, which 
took place upon this prolific ground. 

In addition to the English family, there were 
two others to make up the complement ; these 
were a young woman and her infant child. The 
woman was French, vivacious and agreeable, as 
most French women are. Her husband, for lack 
of room within, was posted on the outside. Not 
having any thing better to do, I brushed up all the 
French I was master of, and entered into conver- 
sation with her ; so, what with talking, reflecting, 
and gazing upon the glorious orb of night, that 
was darting her silvery rays through an unclouded 
sky, I succeeded passably in whiling away the 
hours until twelve o'clock, the witching noon of 
night, when mortal man, whether buried in sleep 
or immersed in reverie, is most particularly averse 
to being disturbed. At this critical point of time 
occurred one of those alarming and inexplicable 
stops, that are wont to try the patience of the 
diligence traveller in these regions. Nearly two 
hours elapsed before we were again en route. 
But how was the interval employed ? the reader 
may inquire. Why, principally, in that infallible 
and inexhaustible amusement, which comes home 
even to the most bias?:, the ministering to a crav- 
ing appetite, or simply in eating and drinking; 
pretty much the only things, I fancy, that a man 
could find the heart to attend to, when disturbed at 
such an unseasonable epoch of " the twenty-four." 
Immediately upon coming to a full stop, the con- 



156 LSERiNE. 

ductor informed us, that refreshment might be 
found at a neighbouring auberge, where we lost 
no time in repairing, and discovered already pre- 
pared, (with malice prepense, significant of the 
cold-blooded combination between the innkeepers 
and the knights of the road,) a nondescript meal, 
that might be termed dinner, supper, or breakfast, as 
fancy dictated. However, it was sufficiently sub- 
stantial, consisting of soupes, Ugumes, and hot meats, 
kept in countenance by sundry dark sentinels, 
yclept bottles of wine. The various viands met 
with a warm reception from the guests, and speed- 
ily vanished beneath their busy appetites. With 
their disappearance appeared once more the most 
enviable of all possessions, good humour ; for it is 
most true, that, when that uncompromising organ, 
the stomach, is content, and good digestion follows 
in the train of good appetite, the current of our 
thoughts, we will suppose, for instance, previously 
turbid, swelling, dangerous, sinks gently, without 
effort of our own, to its accustomed level, and 
glides smoothly and peacefully on. The remark 
made by Diderot, when he exclaims, after giving 
way for some time to a train of gloomy reflection, 
Mais je vois que ma digestion va mieux, and upon 
this perception breaks into a livelier strain, though 
it has been not a little derided, I cannot consider, 
nevertheless, other than natural, malgre all that the 
enthusiastic advocates of the rnind's entire mastery 
over its material sheath, the body, may assert to 
the contrary. 

The traveller who enters Switzerland by the 



SCENERY NEAR BERNE. 137 

route I selected, will perceive in the vicinity of 
Berne the first bright dawn of that scenic loveli- 
ness, that Nature has so profusely lavished upon 
this, her choicest sanctuary. The cultivated sweep 
of country, with its picturesque undulations of hill 
and slope, smiling with verdure or decked with 
the waving produce of honest industry, spreads 
gratefully before the eye, filling the heart with 
pleasurable emotions. Afar in the distance, sternly 
contrasting, rear their huge heads the Bernese 
Alps ; while, towering high above the rest, like 
the colossal Titan of mythology, thy hoary summit, 
inaccessible Jungfrau, wrapped in eternal snows, 
pierces the blue arch of Heaven. Adown from his 
mountain home rushes, turbid and impetuous, the 
swollen Aar, chafing with restless wave his narrow 
bounds, as onward he hurries to repose in the ex- 
tended embrace of the Rhine. 

The situation of Berne is fine and commanding. 
It extends far along the declivity of a hill, and 
is washed on three sides by the waters of the 
Aar. The city is very deficient in width, hav- 
ing but one or two streets, which run parallel 
with the principal avenue. These few, however, 
make ample amends for other deficiences, by 
their extreme length ; seeming to me, as I pedestri- 
anized along the trottoirs, well nigh interminable. 
The houses are handsomely built of stone. The 
streets are kept clean and in good order, and the 
entire city wears an appearance of substantial com- 
fort and solidity, well in character with the no- 
ble nature of the scenery that surrounds it, and 
13 



138 BERNE. 

the presumed simplicity of its republican institu- 
tions. 

The most imposing of its edifices is the great 
Gothic Cathedral, which the tourist should by no 
means omit to visit. In close contiguity with the 
Cathedral is the favorite promenade, shaded on 
each side with rows of trees. The esplanade which 
forms the walk is elevated one hundred and eight 
feet, in perpendicular height, above the level of 
the river. It is secured by a wall or battlement, 
more than one hundred feet in altitude. As you 
stand beside the trifling parapet which terminates 
the wall, the eye embraces a magnificent and truly 
Swiss spectacle, brought in nearer proximity by 
the dizzy height from which you survey it. The 
whirling Aar rushes, with furious eddy, at your 
feet, and anon, bounding over a ledge of rock, 
leaps in the roaring cascade, and whitens to foam 
in the distance. Moving along the paths of this 
romantic promenade, may be seen, of a beautiful 
day, groups of pedestrians, influenced by all mo- 
tives, exercise, curiosity, ennui, — from the inquisi- 
tive traveller, who dwells with straining gaze upon 
this fair, wild page in the vast and varied volume 
of Nature, to the simpler inhabitant, for whom fet- 
tering habit has made even sublimity commonplace, 
and yet, mayhap, all unconsciously to himself, has 
his mind become the recipient of more enlarged 
and expanded views, arising from that sympathetic 
influence, which the grand in the natural world 
exercises over the not less wondrous world, that 
lives, moves, and has its being within the limits 
of each human breast. 



LAUSANNE -POETIC ASSOCIATIONS. 139 

I have said, that at Berne the scenery of Swit- 
zerland first begins to fulfil the bright promise of its 
excellence. Nor does it for a moment disappoint 
the traveller of that promise, as, upon leaving 
Berne, he pursues his way onward to Lausanne and 
the Pays de Vaud. Lausanne ! sweet yet rugged 
Lausanne! how lingers the pen over that name! 
How with almost holy joy, greets the modern pil- 
grim thy picturesque shores, thy love-breathing lake! 
Nursery of genius, from thee have thundered forth 
voices electrifying and revolutionizing the world. 
Most poetic of cities, thou livest in the melancholy 
and soul-subduing page of Rousseau, who drank 
from thy pure air and the contemplation of thy 
lovely lake, (sleeping like an infant between the 
bosoms of the maternal Alps,) those deep draughts 
of inspiration, intoxicating alike soul and sense, 
now exalting their possessor to an Elysium of bliss 
the grovelling earth dreams not of; now plunging 
him into an abyss of wretchedness the vulgar 
never can know. Yet who would not purchase 
that fiery essence men call genius, even at its 
price of blood; who would not linger out the 
paltry pittance of some three-score years, steeped 
to the dregs in misery (if it were the alternative) 
to feel conscious of that glorious possession, of that 
unquenchable fire, which, ages after the material 
shall have mouldered to its parent dust, will burn 
bright, vivid, intense, upon altars erected by the 
universal world ! — at whose undying flame the 
kindred spirits of every age shall illume their lesser 
torch, and gaze through its searching rays with 



140 LAUSANNE. 

steadfast and unblenching eye, upon that mystic 
and darksome veil, (thinner to them,) which di- 
vides the mortal from immortality, the thing cre- 
ated, noble in its aspirations, infinite in its desires, 
from its fearful and omnipotent Creator. 

I confess myself an admirer of Rousseau, that 
is, of his writings. I know it has been and still 
is the fashion, to decry him as a man, and to dilate 
upon the dangerous tendency of his works. In 
his naive confessions, he has thrown open to our 
scrutiny the inner chambers of his very soul ; he 
has exposed the workings of the restless heart, 
and laid bare its deep-seated motives. He has 
shown himself as he was, or as he fancied he was ; 
and which of us, under a similar expose, could dis- 
play a head or heart exempt from vice or folly ? 
Is no allowance to be made for the infirmities of 
genius ? Shall we, who have hung entranced over 
its sweetness and power, grant nothing to its 
weakness ? No ; the author of the Hcloise may 
have been wavering and suspicious ; he may have 
yielded too often and too long to the sweeping 
current of powerful impulse ; but I cannot believe 
him to have been a bad man. The tender heart 
which diffused itself in the immortal conception of 
a Julie, might have been an erring, but could not 
be a bad one. There is throughout the whole of 
this exquisite character, an unfailing spring of 
sweetness, sympathy, and love, forgetful all of 
self, which shows most clear, that the hidden 
source, from whence it was fed and sprang to con- 
scious life, was not other than the offspring, pure 



ROUSSEAU. — CHARACTER OF JULIE. 141 

and unalloyed. The character as a whole, 1 ven- 
ture to say, is the most attractive delineation of 
woman, that the voice of the magician has ever 
summoned into existence ; not perfect, it is true, 
for with such we can have but little sympathy. 
No ; the tenderness, the disinterested love, the 
resistless passion, the irresolution, the frailty of 
the woman ; — all are there, in the midst of that pu- 
rity of soul, which flies instinctive from aught that 
contaminates, that angelic sweetness, that perfect, 
absorbing love, attributes with which we are fain 
in our dreams to clothe the sainted denizens of 
Heaven. Strange combination ! — the weakness of 
the creature for a moment predominates ; but Vir- 
tue and Religion step in to still the guilty murmurs 
of Passion. The good deeds of years erase the 
memory of a single weakness ; and spotless, un- 
sullied, its stain washed away, flies back the eager 
soul, its probation over, to the infinite Essence of 
which it forms a part. 

But it is not as a champion of Rousseau or La 
Nouvelle Hcloise, that I hold the pen ; it is rather 
the magical power of association, that forbids me 
to quit so hallowed a vicinity, without adverting 
to him, who has thrown over it the glowing man- 
tle of pure, self-sacrificing love. Who can gaze 
upon the beautiful lake, or wander along the pic- 
turesque shores of Vevai, or gaze on thee, sweet 
Clarens, or thee, consecrated Meillerie, where 
burned the loves of a Julie, a Saint-Preux, 
where kindled into yet nobler sentiment the self- 
denying friendship of a Claire or an Edouard, 



142 LAUSANNE. 

without yielding the tribute of a sigh or a tear to 
the memory of the sensitive genius, that summoned 
these beautiful creations into existence ? I cannot 
forsake this subject without quoting a passage from 
the " Confessions," in which Jean Jacques beau- 
tifully portrays the effect produced upon his mind, 
from earliest youth, by the contemplation of this 
fair lake and its haunted environs. 

" L'aspect du Lac de Geneve et de ses admira- 
bles cotes eut toujours a mes yeux un attrait par- 
ticulier, que je ne saurois expliquer, et qui ne tient 
pas seulement a la beaute du spectacle, mais a je 
ne sais quoi de plus inteiessant qui m'affecte et 
m'attendrit. Toutes les fois que j'approche du 
pays de Vaud, j'eprouve une impression composee 
du souvenir de Madame de Warens qui y est nee, 
de mon pere qui y venoit, de Mademoiselle de 
Vulson qui y eut les premices de mon cceur, des 
plusieurs voyages de plaisir, que j'y fis dans mon 
enfance, et il me semble de quelque autre cause 
encore plus secrete et plus forte que tout cela. 
Quand l'ardent desir de cette vie heureuse et douce 
qui me fuit et pour laquelle j'etois ne, vient en- 
flammer mon imagination, c'est toujours au pays 
de Vaud pres du lac, dans les campagnes charman- 
tes, qu'elle se fixe. II me faut absolument un verger 
au bord de ce lac, et non pas d'un autre ; il me 
faut un ami sur, une femme aimable, une vache, 
un petit bateau. Je ne jouirai jamais d'un bon- 
heur parfait sur la terre que quand j'aurai tout 
cela. Je ris de la simplicity avec laquelle je suis 
alle plusieurs fois dans ce pays-la, uniquement 



THE LAKE OF GENEVA. 143 

pour y chercher ce bonheur imaginaire. J'etois 
toujours surpris d'y trouver les habitans, surtout 
les femmes, d'un tout autre caractere que celui 
que j'y cherchois. Le pays et le peuple dont il 
est couvert ne m'ont jamais paru faits l'un pour 
l'autre." * 

The beauty of this extract must be an excuse 
for its length ; but turn we from the visionary 
Rousseau, with his Ideal Love, to one yet more 
identified with this city of the memory, the stately 
historian of Rome's Decline and Fall. His char- 
acter has been thus briefly sketched by the most 
inspired poet of modern times : 

" The other deep and slow, exhausting thought, 
And hiving wisdom with each studious year, 

* The view of the Lake of Geneva, and of its beautiful shores, 
has ever possessed for me a charm, which I know not how to explain, 
and which springs not entirely from the beauty of the scene, but 
rather from a something more interesting, which touches and softens 
me. Whenever I approach the country of Vaud, I experience a 
mingled sentiment, composed of the recollections of Madame de 
Warens, who was born there, of my father who resided there, and 
of Mademoiselle de Vulson, who there received the first-fruits of my 
heart, of the many pleasurable excursions which I made there in my 
earliest youth, and it seems to me of some cause more difficult to 
define, yet stronger than all this. When the ardent desire for that 
peaceful and happy life, which ever eludes my grasp, but for which 
I was created, comes to inflame my imagination, it is always in the 
Canton of Vaud, near the lake, amid that charming scenery, that it 
centres itself. I must absolutely have an orchard near the border of 
this Lake and of no other. I must have a true friend, an amiable 
woman, a cow, and a little boat. Never upon the earth shall I enjoy 
perfect happiness, unless in the possession of all these. I now smile 
at the simplicity with which I have many times visited that country, 
solely to seek this imaginary felicity. I was ever surprised to find 
the inhabitants, and especially the women, of a character totally dif- 
ferent from that I was seeking. The country and the people who 
inhabit it have never seemed to me intended the one for the other. 



144 LAUSANNE. — GIBBON. 

In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought 
And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, 
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer, 

The lord of irony, that master spell 

Which stung his foes to wrath which grew from fear, 

And doomed him to the zealot's ready hell, 

Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well." 

Gibbon is the moral antipodes of Rousseau, with 
but little sentiment and less feeling. With a soul, 
searching indeed and comprehensive, but unattuned 
to the touch of those vivid emotions, that sweep 
over that many-stringed instrument, the heart, 
thrilling it now with happiness and harmony, anon 
sundering with reckless blast those delicate chords, 
whose office it is to keep in tune the mysterious 
mechanism of existence. Gibbon possessed an 
indefatigable spirit of research, a restless, perse- 
vering industry ; and upon these he has based a 
work, massive, long in building, like the Pyramids 
of Egypt, but, like those Pyramids, shall it de- 
scend, colossal, enduring through the long vista of 
remotest posterity. 

It is a melancholy, and yet a wondrous thing 
to reflect upon, that men of the profoundest eru- 
dition, men who, from the nature of their pur- 
suits, may be presumed to have thought more 
deeply than the herd upon the absorbing subject 
of a dread hereafter, should so oft, either under 
the unblushing front of withering skepticism, open- 
ly avow their unbelief, or strive, by the covert 
attack or insidious sneer, to undermine the glo- 
rious fabric of the Christian Faith. Can they, 
who are so conscious of the wild energies of that 
imperishable power, that traverses the elements, 



LAUSANNE DESCRIBED. 145 

and soars beyond the material into the illimitable 
regions of eternal space, wafted on by the untiring 
pinion of its own sublime conceptions, — can they 
suppose this godlike power, dividing them, as it 
were by an impassable gulf, from their species, 
was given but to animate for a brief segment of 
time a frail tenement of clay, and then, like that, 
to perish and dissolve away in the dread abyss of 
annihilation ? No, it cannot be. 

But let us turn from the names that have render- 
ed it famous, and cast a glance over the city of 
Lausanne as it now is. Of a surety, nowhere, save 
in Switzerland or the mountain fastnesses of the 
Tyrol, would men have had the persevering cour- 
age to perch a town upon such a site as this. The 
bold, uneven character of the soil, now shooting 
abruptly into hill, anon sinking as suddenly into 
steep declivity, presents a formidable barrier to sta- 
bility or elegance in building. Accordingly, Lau- 
sanne unfolds to the eye a confused and irregular 
appearance. Its buildings seem huddled together in 
intricate masses, with but little reference to ele- 
gance or order. To ascend from the lower to the 
more elevated sections of the city, you are obliged 
to thread long labyrinths of stairs and blind alleys, 
cut directly through with the greatest economy of 
space, so covert, withal, and concealed from the 
uninitiated, that, if you hit upon them, it will be 
at random. 

But you must not look here for the true glory of 
Lausanne. Glance your eye around, from the emi- 
nence you have just reached. Stand beside the old, 
19 



146 LAUSANNE. — TJ IE MAJESTY OF NATURE. 

venerable Cathedral, and dwell for a while upon 
the scene that expands before you. The careering 
sun is past his fierce meridian, his beams, shorn of 
their fiery ardor, fall caressingly upon the tranquil 
bosom of that happy Lake. Look beyond to where 
the misty Alps, stern guardians of the scene, exalt 
their proud heads far into the blue empyrean. 
The wide expanse of water lies wrapped in mo- 
tionless repose ; not a ripple rufiles its gilded sur- 
face. What is it so soothes, so tranquillizes, that 
whilome fluttering mind. It is the holy aspect of 
Nature, rejoicing in the majesty of universal still- 
ness. It is the balm of her sacred influence, 
staunching the heart's deep wounds, which the 
world knows not how to heal. Oh ye, whose 
bosoms have been lacerated by hurts that defy 
Time's vaunted skill, who have to mourn the 
stinging ingratitude of friendship, the blacker 
treachery of love, why dwell ye yet amid the friv- 
olous circles of this superficial world ? Why, with 
that aching void at heart, that morbid yearning after 
sympathy (divine plant which grows not there), 
will ye move in that painted thing of artifice and 
conventional restraint men call society ? Fly, es- 
cape while you may from these hollow, heartless 
scenes. Embosom yourselves in the protecting sanc- 
tuary beneficent Nature throws open to such as you. 
There, in daily contemplation of her calm, majes- 
tic, undisturbed features, raise your purified thoughts 
to the Omniscient Framer of all, and forget the 
petty sorrows of a day, which finite time shall soon 
merge in the illimitable ocean of Eternity. 



CHAPTER XI. 

Steam-boat Passage to Geneva. — Jerome Bonaparte. — Arrival at 
Geneva. — Sceneiy. — Excursion towards Mont Blanc. — Scenery 
on the Way. — Vale of Chamouni. — Ascent of Montanvert. — 
Mer de Glace. — De Saussure. — Further Remarks on Chamouni. 
— Return to Geneva. — Remarkable Grotto. 

From Lausanne I took passage on board the 
steam-boat for Geneva. The distance separating 
the former city from its port Ouchy is something 
less than a mile. There is a gradual, uninterrupted 
descent all the way, to the very borders of the 
Lake. The steam-boat, a well looking craft, plies 
between the extreme points of Vevai and Geneva, 
touching at all the intervening places of impor- 
tance. And now I was floating, for the first time, 
on the translucent bosom of that fairy lake ; mer- 
rily did the rapid bow throw aside its blue waters, 
and the chasing ripple, widening far in the dis- 
tance, wrinkled for a moment the glassy serenity 
of its polished surface. Onward we sped. In 
pleasing succession, villages, hamlets, and spires 
studded the picturesque shores. To enliven the 
ear, too, there was music, and the sons of song 
deemed themselves well recompensed with the 
trifling pittance the traveller never denies to the 
needy minstrel. The assemblage was gay and well 
equipped, like a party of pleasure on a summer 
lake. Among the company was shown me the 



148 LAKE OF GENEVA. — JEROME BONAPARTE. 

ci-devant Roi de Westphalie, brother of Napoleon, 
Jerome Bonaparte. I know not if it be so with 
all, but in my breast there trembles an almost pain- 
ful thrill, as I gaze, for the first time, on aught 
intimately connected with the " master spirit of 
an age." 

There stood, yet in the vigorous prime of life, 
the brother of a man, who, by the colossal ener- 
gies of his own undaunted mind, succeeded in 
erecting, upon the ruins of a dynasty that had 
flourished for centuries, the steps that led to his 
own unparalleled grandeur ; the man, who raised 
an entire family from the dust, and seated them 
on thrones, that Kings by divine right were com- 
pelled to abdicate ; and his fall had been as start- 
ling, as meteoric, as his rise. Oh God ! what 
changes in the brief span of a single human exis- 
tence ! Brief, did I say ? Not so ; for, with that 
burning, concentrated consciousness of life, the 
tame monotony of the ordinary routine, occupied 
it tenfold the vulgar amount of time, would ap- 
pear but short in the comparison. Life should be 
measured by sensations, not years. But to return 
from our digression to the Ex-King of Westphalia. 

The countenance of Jerome bears a close resem- 
blance to the portraits of his Imperial brother. 
He is the taller by two inches or more, and pos- 
sesses the Napoleon figure, compact and symmetri- 
cal. Upon his visage is stamped that grave ex- 
pression, which is the offspring of stern experience 
and bitter reverse. In his dress, he differed not 
at all from the costume of a private gentleman. 



ARRIVAL AT GENEVA. — AMERICANS. 149 

No star, order, or decoration bore witness to the 
former greatness of his station. The prince was 
flying from Italy, where he has long resided 
(at Florence), to escape that terrific scourge, the 
cholera, intending to pass the few months of his 
absence beneath the healthier sky of Geneva. 
His family accompanied him, and among them was 
a daughter, a beautiful girl of nineteen or twenty. 
The watchful policy of the reigning power forbids 
a Bonaparte to place foot on the soil of France. 
No member of that family can inhabit a kingdom, 
where rose, where set, shining over the brightest 
pages in its annals, the transcendant star of Napo- 
leon. 

Arrived at length at Geneva, I paid my first 
visit to the Hotel des Bergs, and there took lodg- 
ings. This extensive establishment, one of the 
most spacious on the Continent, is pleasantly sit- 
uated near the borders of the Lake, and in the 
immediate vicinity of the ramparts, with their pic- 
turesque promenades. Among the guests I discov- 
ered many of my countrymen, who were tarrying 
here in hopes that favorable news from Italy might 
soon allow them to cross the mountain passes of 
Cenis or the Simplon. Our fashionable country- 
woman, Mrs. ****, was at that time resident at 
the Hotel, delighting her friends with that agree- 
able vivacity of manner, and easy flow of conver- 
sation, which have ever distinguished her, and 
there, as well as here and elsewhere, the bright, 
particular cynosure of an admiring coterie. 

There is in the scenery about Geneva a rare 



150 GENEVA. 

combination of the beautiful and the sublime. You 
have the wide expanse of lake, and the " blue 
rushing of the arrowy Rhone," while, far in the 
distance, frown the gigantic summits of the Ai- 
guille du Midi and Mont Blanc, with their colossal 
groups. From these you may turn, if such be 
your pleasure, and enjoy the picturesque and rural 
walk. In sooth, there is, in Geneva, that which 
will content the lover of nature, and yet not dis- 
please him that loveth cities. There one may court 
the pensive charms of solitude, or mingle in the 
busy hum of men, as it seemeth him best, and no 
one saith Why ? or Wherefore ? 

I had remained in Geneva some days, and was 
desirous, should an agreeable compagnon de voyage 
offer, of setting out on an excursion to the Valley of 
Chamouni. As no such agreeable person had pre- 
sented himself, I was one day debating whether it 
were not better to encounter the perils of the jour- 
ney alone than remain longer inactive, when a 
French gentleman was introduced to me by the 
maitre d? hotel. He observed, with a truly national 
suavity, that hearing there was un Monsieur Amtr- 
icain about taking a trip to Mont Blanc, and being 
himself bent on the same purpose, he had taken 
the liberty to request an introduction, in the hope 
that we might find it agreeable to travel there in 
company. To this proposition I had no objection 
to offer ; so we made the necessary contract for 
carriage and driver, prepared what little baggage 
was necessary, and set off on our excursion with- 
out more ado. My companion I found to be pleas- 



EXCURSION TO THE VALLEY OF CHAMOUNI. 151 

ant and affable, with a good share of his nation's 
volatility ; and, by the time we had jogged along 
a mile or two together, nous fumes de parfaitement 
bon accord. 

Upon leaving Geneva, you speedily strike the 
frontier of Savoy. The scenery around you al- 
most instantly assumes a loftier character, and 
here and there your road defiles through passes 
of the wildest grandeur. Towering, inaccessible 
heights shoot abruptly up, on either side, whose 
bare, overtopping crags were fit dwelling-places 
only for the young of the mountain eagle, or 
the sure-footed chamois. The spectator gazes, 
with a feeling akin to terror, upon the sublimity 
of a spectacle, increased tenfold by its immediate 
contiguity. It is then there comes home, laden 
with conviction, to the breast, a feeling of our own 
insignificance. Fall but a pebble from these, Na- 
ture's gigantic battlements, and this fleeting unit 
of existence we so fondly cherish, is snuffed out, 
as is the light of a taper, and the darkness of death 
closes over, mantling with impenetrable veil each 
trace of what once was. How anomalous is it, 
that the puny passions of men should vent their 
little storm amid scenes like these. War, with all 
its grim, blood-stained features ; the death-strug- 
gle of foe fierce grappling with foe ; the distant 
volley, scattering its invisible messengers of de- 
struction ; how diminutive, how insignificant all, 
in the presence of those dread altars, erected by 
an Almighty hand, and destined to endure until 
the firm foundations of the solid earth shall dissolve 
into nothingness away. 



152 EXCURSION TO THE VALLEY OF CHAMOUNI. 

We arrived at Sallenches as the dusk of eve 
was setting in, and partook for the night of such 
accommodations as the hotel there afforded. At 
early dawn the ensuing morning, we commenced 
an ascent to the celebrated Vale of Chamouni. In 
accomplishing this portion of the journey, the 
traveller makes use of a light, diminutive vehicle, 
termed char a banc. In this, the voyageur is seat- 
ed as in an omnibus, presenting his side to the 
moving power. The vehicle thus designated is 
made extremely narrow, the better to thread those 
difficult defiles, that beset the mountain path. 
Driver and char a, banc being at length provided, 
the slow and laborious ascent was commenced. 

The resplendent sun was shining bright and high 
in the heavens, when, the purgatory of initiation 
past, we stood in the verdant Vale of Chamouni. 
It was the most sublime spectacle I ever wit- 
nessed, as, directing my eyes above, I discerned, 
in the more visible majesty of near approach, the 
giant form of Mont Blanc rearing his hoary head, 
whitened by the snows of innumerable ages, into 
the freezing regions of the upper air. 

Upon entering, for the first time, this valley, the 
traveller seems introduced to a new world. He 
stands upon a wonderful strip of land, which, but 
for the adventurous curiosity of modern tourists, had 
yet remained locked unknown in the icy embrace 
of encircling Alps. He gazes about him on a 
scene, that mocks the slow step of comparison. 
New ideas are born within him, as, with reeling 
sense, he scans those stupendous mountains, prop- 



VALLEY OF CHAMOUJNI. 153 

ping the high canopy of Heaven, or marks those 
dashing torrents, as, issuing from the Glacier's 
dark mouth, resistless even at their birth, like in- 
fant Hercules, or, as sweeping with rapid stream 
from their more distant mountain homes, they 
whirl, lost in foam and rage, at his very feet. 
And yet the vale is clad in smiling verdure, the 
mildness of the temperature invites, the rugged 
bosom of the soil, tempered by culture, responds 
harmonious to the wish of man. Art and civiliza- 
tion are leaving their traces on that wild retreat, 
where savage nature was wont to gambol alone, 
magnificent, undisturbed. 

It was late in the month of September at the 
time of my visit. The last, lingering days of la 
belle saison were drawing to a close, and the tide 
of travel was already at its ebb. However, it was 
but little matter ; one goes not to Chamouni to 
see the world of art or society, and nature, at least 
to my eye, looks quite as lovely where there are 
not a hundred spectators at my side to comment 
on her charms. 

Yet we had no dearth of company at the little 
hotel where I was quartered. They were, with- 
out exception, French, and not exactly of that 
class most congenial to my fancy. One pleasant 
morning it was proposed to ascend Montanvert, 
and a party of us consisting of ten or twelve, 
among whom were several ladies, proceeded to 
put the proposition into immediate execution. 
Having provided ourselves with guides and mules, 
we struck out upon the path which conducts to 
20 



154 ASCENT OF MONTANVERT. 

the mountain's base. A light snow had fallen the 
day previous, and the air was chill and bracing. 
Mounted on our mules we made good way, and 
in less than three hours reached the summit, ele- 
vated more than three thousand feet above the 
level of the valley. The path is at times of a very 
steep and precipitous character, where a single 
misstep would involve both animal and rider in 
immediate destruction. It is really edifying, in 
such passes as these, to observe the sangfroid with 
which your mule bends his head over the shelving 
side, and gazes on the gaping precipice beneath. 
Being somewhat unaccustomed to such scenes, I 
could not share his unconcern, and, although I back- 
ed him to the top, to avoid the hard work of climb- 
ing, I trusted to no one's prudence but my own in 
(In 1 less difficult process of descent. 

From the top of Montanvert you enjoy a near 
and splendid view of the chain of Aiguilles, and 
of the celebrated glacier termed the Mer de Glace. 
The billows of this sea of ice rise nearly to the 
altitude of Montanvert, and occupy the entire ex- 
tent of valley between it and a peak of similar 
height upon the opposite side. What may be the 
depth of this wondrous sea is unknown ; but, judg- 
ing from the distance the eye can penetrate its ter- 
rible chasms, it must be very great. Most appropri- 
ately has it received the name of " mer de glace," 
for this celebrated glacier appears as would the 
billows of the tempestuous ocean, seized at their 
highest point of fury, and stricken by the Almighty 
mandate into eternal immobility. 



THE GLACIER OF THE MER DE GLACE 155 

We descended the precipitous side of the moun- 
tain to that point, where the immense glacier is 
circumscribed by its gigantic form. As I before 
remarked, a light snow had fallen upon the pre- 
vious day, and the frozen waves afforded but an 
unsteady and perilous footing. I lingered some 
while in the contemplation of this vast and novel 
feature in nature's scenery, which Switzerland, her 
favored clime, alone developes in the fullest extent 
of grandeur. 

My ambition did not induce me to attempt any 
thing more arduous than the scaling of Mon tan vert ; 
and I must confess I felt but small desire to court 
a doubtful immortality by enrolling my name amid 
those of the adventurous few who had planted 
foot on the giant crest of Mont Blanc. I think 
there had been no ascent during that whole season. 
European tourists seem to rest satisfied with the 
fact, that their nations have been severally repre- 
sented in the conquest of the colossal mountain ; 
and the American traveller may do so likewise. 
In truth, the most enthusiastic seem now disposed 
to admit, that even the gratification of a commend- 
able philosophical curiosity, or, as it more fre- 
quently is, that of another less excusable trait, may 
be too dearly purchased at the expense of frozen 
limbs or an undermined constitution. Science has 
already shed its lustre over these remarkable and 
snow-clad regions ; their geology and physical phe- 
nomena have been developed to the world's eye 
by the wisdom and untiring perseverance of a for- 
mer generation. The celebrated naturalist of Gen- 



156 FURTHER REMARKS ON CHAMOUNI. 

eva, De Saussure, has clone more than the whole 
host of travellers or geologists to clear away the 
mysteries, that clung around the Titanic mountain. 
He was the first to scale its summit; and the result 
of those experiments he has left recorded, as a be- 
quest to our later age, most satisfactorily elucidates 
all which was before unknown respecting the geo- 
logical phenomena of that lofty region, as well as 
the more remarkable properties of the surrounding 
atmosphere, its intense coldness and rarity, with 
the effect it produces upon the respiratory organs, 
and the general functions of the animal economy. 

I passed two days in dwelling upon the wild 
and wonderful, to which this celebrated vale seems 
consecrated. Chamouni is emphatically a region 
sui generis, and no other spot in the known world 
can be brought into comparison with it. Let the 
reader conceive the wildest extremes, that Nature 
is wont elsewhere to set apart by the barriers of 
distance and season, brought here at the same 
moment of time, in closest contiguity. The huge 
glacier rolls onward his frozen billows, until they 
invade the province of smiling verdure and of wav- 
ing grain. The eye turns from the rugged and 
sterile rock, around which are piled the snows of 
countless ages, to rest upon the field of the hus- 
bandman, rich with the products of a grateful soil. 
Winter, spring, summer, autumn, seem here to 
blend, and maintain over this little territory a si- 
multaneous empire. 

It was the afternoon of a drizzly and disagree- 
able day, that we took leave of Chamouni. The 



RETURN TO SALLENCHES. 157 

shades of evening were fast closing in, as, alighting 
from our rude vehicle, heartily fatigued by the 
arduous nature of the excursion, we hastened to 
avail ourselves of such accommodation for refresh- 
ment and repose, as the indifferent auberge at 
Sallenches could afford. Early upon the succeed- 
ing day, we recommenced the journey to Geneva. 
I have before observed, that the Savoy route abounds 
in natural features both sublime and picturesque ; 
but I omitted then to mention what may be con- 
sidered by far the most striking natural curiosity 
in this particular section of the country. I refer 
to a remarkable grotto, scooped out by the hand of 
Nature in a perpendicular wall of towering rock, 
midway between its base and summit. 

This singular entrance into the very bosom of the 
living rock was discovered by De Saussure, and, 
since his time, has awakened the speculations and 
excited the wonder of visiters from every clime. At 
the cottage where your vehicle remains, en atten- 
dant, you are furnished with a guide, and, as the 
walk is but trifling, you set out at once upon the 
excursion. In order to reach the grotto, you must 
follow a zigzag path, that has been constructed with 
much difficulty and expense along the steep wall 
of rock. The ascent is not a little fatiguing. 
At length a sharp angle in the path discloses, just 
above you, a view of the wished for aperture. It 
is of moderate size, and at first glance would ap- 
pear to you rather as made by the hand of man, 
than the work of Nature. From the fact of this 
being the only extensive grotto I ever enjoyed the 



158 REMARKABLE GROTTO. 

opportunity of minutely surveying, it would, of 
course, be impossible for me to draw any compar- 
ison, founded on personal observation, between its 
general appearance, and that of other curiosities 
in the natural world of a similar character. There 
is here but little of that fantastic grouping of sta- 
lactite and glittering spar, which the reader will 
recall as connected with a modern traveller's vivid 
description of the celebrated grotto of Antiparos. 

Preceded by guide and flambeau, I pursued the 
course of this mysterious passage, as it wound 
along its intricate way, piercing deep into the heart 
of the living rock. The cavern is cold and damp ; 
its walls now bound a wide and spacious area, 
anon they are so constrained as scarce to admit 
two abreast. The ceiling, a moment before lofty, 
is now depressed to a degree, that compels the ad- 
venturer to creep through a narrow passage, that 
would well nigh seem to debar further progress. In 
a moment you emerge into a freer space, and reas- 
sume the upright position. Passing onward, new 
wonders meet the eye. The rude pave, worn by 
a ceaseless exudation from wall and ceiling, is 
moulded into a thousand irregular and fantastic 
shapes. Near the extremity of the cavern yawns 
an abyss of unknown depth. Having provided 
ourselves with stones for the purpose, we com- 
menced casting them down the gaping descent ; 
the noise reverberated upon the ear in loud reports 
for several seconds, and then faded away gradu- 
ally, impressing upon the mind a thrilling conscious- 
ness of the fathomless depth of that gloomy chasm, 



REMARKABLE GROTTO. 159 

on whose brink we were standing. Passing on- 
ward over the narrow ledge between the mouth 
of the chasm and the wall, you arrive ere long at 
the termination of the perilous path. A pool, 
whose waters are black as ink, and of intense cold- 
ness, presents an impassable barrier to further pro- 
gress. Nevertheless, as I was informed by the 
guide, there have been those hardy enough to at- 
tempt its passage, with a view to prosecute fur- 
ther researches on the opposite side, if indeed 
there be any. The rash attempt, of course, ever 
failed. 

There is a painful and perhaps superstitious thrill 
comes over the spectator, as he gazes on those 
gloomy and mysterious waters. The mind asks 
itself, From whence is their origin ? Whither do 
they flow ? All is veiled alike in doubt and dark- 
ness. It seems to me, indeed, but little wonder- 
ful, that the ancients should have invested the 
appearances, which Nature, as if to set all rules at 
defiance, occasionally assumes, with images of the 
preternatural and unearthly. Even in our later 
day, when the results of Learning have enlightened 
the world ; when untiring Science has partially 
removed the veil behind which the arcana of Na- 
ture had heretofore been concealed, and revealed 
to us the secret of much of her seeming mystery, 
— is there not yet often elicited, by the immediate 
presence of her more wondrous phenomena, a feel- 
ing of deep awe, that owns (though we like not to 
allow it) close kindred to superstition? 

Having now indulged, as far as time would per- 



160 GENEVA. 

mit, the curiosity that so singular a spot must nat- 
urally give rise to, we emerged from the gloomy 
portal of these rocky chambers, and rapidly retraced 
our way down the steep path, to the little cottage 
where our vehicle was in waiting. The remainder 
of the journey was performed without interruption 
or adventure, and at early eve I had arrived in the 
good city of Geneva, and retaken my apartment 
at the princely Hotel des Bergs. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Voltaire's Seat at Ferney. — His Death. — The old Gardener at Fer- 
ney. — Voltaire's Character and Skepticism. — His Intimacy with 
Frederic the Great. — Coppet. — Madame de Stael. — Present 
Condition and Resources of Geneva. — Its Picturesqueness. — Lake 
Leman. — The Genevois. — Present Condition of the Swiss and 
Switzerland. 

The traveller at Geneva will not omit visiting 
those places in its vicinity, over which the unfad- 
ing memory of genius has shed its consecrating 
glow. Of these, the most noted is Voltaire's 
celebrated residence, Ferney. Accompanied by 
three or four of my compatriots, among whom 
was the beautiful Miss S******* 5 I made an ex- 
cursion to this memorable seat. The route is pic- 
turesque and interesting. You alight at the open- 
ing of an avenue which conducts to the mansion ; 
arrived there, the visiter is admitted to apartments 
whose arrangements and decorations are yet as they 
were during the lifetime of the celebrated author. 
In those rooms did the great literary demigod of 
the eighteenth century transcribe those profound 
thoughts, that, sinking deep into the hearts of 
men, fired the resistless train of revolution. Here 
were passed those solitary years, whose laborious 
study was recompensed by the literary honors of 
awakened Europe. The monarchs of Christendom 
derived an accession of greatness and celebrity from 
21 



162 THE OLD GARDENER AT FERNEY. 

the friendship of the varied Wit, the Poet, the 
Historian, and the Philosopher. His grateful coun- 
try awarded the triumphant ovation, the encircling 
yet fatal laurel ; * but never, in that long career 
of splendor, shone more brightly the flame, than 
in the last brief rlickerings of existence. Lord 
Byron, in his " Childe Harold," has thus briefly 
and truly characterized him : 

" The one was fire and fickleness, a child 

Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, 
A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild ; 

Historian, bard, philosopher, combined, 

He multiplied himself among mankind, 
The Proteus of then - talents : but his own 

Breathed most in ridicule, which as the wind 
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, 
Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne." 

After concluding the survey of the house and 
furniture, you pass to the garden adjoining it ; here 
you are shown the covered walk, which was 
Voltaire's favorite promenade. The old gardener, 
who literally subsists on his recollections of the 
great author, will also request your attention to 
a tree, planted by the hand of his old master. 
Much has been said of this gardener by those 
who have visited Ferney. His age has been rep- 
resented at an hundred years, but did not appear 
to me to exceed eighty. His recollections of Vol- 
taire are necessarily much dimmed by the long 

* The death of Voltaire is supposed to have been accelerated, by 
the excitement he underwent at the Theatre Francais ; when, after the 
performance of a most successful tragedy, his brows were wreathed 
with laurel, amid the acclamations of an audience, excited to the high- 
est pitch of enthusiasm. 



VOLTAIRE'S CHARACTER AND SKEPTICISM. 163 

lapse of more than half a century ; he remembers 
him as an old man, decrepid, and much bowed 
down beneath the weight of years ; of a temper 
frequently peevish and irascible, and endowed with 
none of those qualities which render their possessor 
an amiable personage. Notwithstanding all this 
and much more that has been said, the notices of 
his contemporaries have much belied him, or Vol- 
taire must have possessed, under the careless garb 
of a man of the world, much natural goodness of 
heart. Of this there is a shining instance in his 
defence of the unfortunate Calas, and the asvlum 
he offered to his suffering widow, in the very teeth 
of royal opposition. The inhabitants of Ferney can 
bear witness also to his kind and charitable offices. 

There is but little doubt that the author of 
the Henriade, like many other men of brilliant 
imagination, to whom the meed of popular ap- 
plause is as their vital breath, advanced in the 
conversational coterie, or promulgated on the en- 
during page, sentiments he knew to be in conso- 
nance with the free and licentious spirit of the age, 
but which himself never believed. Many of the 
actions, that gilded the closing years of Voltaire's 
long career, impress the observer with the truth of 
this supposition beyond a doubt. Who can unrid- 
dle that deepest of enigmas, the human heart? 

It were needless to expatiate at length on the 
objects of interest to be seen in the house, or about 
the grounds, of Voltaire ; travellers have long since 
published to the world their minutest particulars ; 
but, before leaving the subject, I shall briefly advert 



164 FERNET,— VOLTAIRE AND FREDERIC THE GREAT. 

to such as tend to display his character as a man, 
or arc intimately connected with the leading events 
of Ids life. The little church beside tin; house, 

with its conspicuous " Deo erexit Voltaire" is of 
itself a volume of biography. Within, in the sails 
de reception, you behold the portraits of Lekain, 
Madame de Chatelet, and Frederic of Prussia. 
Lekain owed much of Ins advancement* as well 
as i he rapid developement of his genius, to the fos- 
tering influence of his great patron. The witty, 
agreeable, clever Madame de Chatelet, long tin; 
there amid of Voltaire, neglected him at last for a 
liaison with one every way his inferior, St. Lam- 
bert. The poet's humorous exclamation of grief, 
upon hearing the news of this lady's decease, is too 
well known to be here repeated ; but. it certainly 
goes to prove, that Voltaire was in freshness of 
feeling a child to the last, and also that tin; natural 
kindliness of his heart was by no means, as has been 
sometimes said, extinguished by that skeptical phi- 
losophy, which occasionally breathes in his writings. 
Hut his intimacy and correspondence with Fred- 
eric the Great forms, perhaps, the most prominent 
episode in the life of Voltaire. The portrait of 
that monarch, suspended from the dingy, time- 
worn wall, recalled to my mind the royal palace 
of Potsdam, and the private cabinet, where the 
Poet and the King were wont to hold converse. 
They were;, unquestionably, the most remarkable 
men of their age ; yet Frederic, with less of what 
is termed genius, was the more clever of the two, 
and greatly surpassed the other in that invaluable 



MADAME DE BTAEL. — -CORINNE IM 

branch of learning] a knowledge of mankind. Few 
men have understood more completely than Fred- 
eric, the various passions that Bwav the human 
heart, or known to turn them better to account; 

and he lias shown a good proof of his shrewd and 

far-sighted policy, in attaching to his person, one, 
the magic of whose pen might embalm (lie more 
perishable deeds of the sword, and transmit them 
on the historic page to the admiration of future 
ages. 

Well, adieu to I'eniev, and peace to the ashes 

of Voltaire. But, ere we quit a country so rich in 
treasured associations, let us take a glance at the 

once tranquil abode of the celebrated Neeker, and 

his far more celebrated daughter. Happy Coppetl 
Immortality shall cling around thee, when cities 
have crumbled to decay. Who can look upon the 
retreat that sheltered the sensitive authoress of 
Corinne, without feeling the strong emotion stru^- 
^ling at his heart. Never, since the days of llous- 
seau, has that gushing, irrepressible sentiment, the 
offspring of love, passionate, overwhelming, yet del- 
icate in its trembling excess, been so eloquently 
portrayed. What wonder? She felt as she wrote. 
Her page was but the burning transcript of her 
heart. Herself was the lofty, the intellectual, the 
passionate, and heart-broken Corinne. She has 

breathed into the character the vivid, the ye;iriini'_! 
emotions of her youth. She has dipped her pencil 
in the bright ineffaceable hues of her own heart. 
What wonder, then, the picture glows in its intense, 
its overpowering fidelity ? Who cm faithfully por- 



166 COPPET. — AUTHORESS OF CORINNE. 

tray feelings which have not their home within 
his own breast ? As well might the dull degraded 
slave, who never knew its magic thrill, dilate on 
the matchless glow of expanding liberty. 

Like the heroine she has drawn, the soul of the 
Original languished for a sympathy beyond the 
reach of common minds. She was shrinkingly con- 
scious of the pure presence of those exhaustless, 
inestimable affections, that burned to bestow them- 
selves on one worthy the priceless gift. But, alas ! 
who could appreciate its untold value ? Oh, beau- 
tiful yet fatal gift ! that leadest thy possessor to 
squander the heart's richest treasures upon objects 
whose unworthiness it learns but too late. What is 
there in this vain world can atone for the sinking of 
the very soul, that attends the first prostrating mo- 
ment of discovery. We have trusted our all to a 
single bark ; it is the fearful wreck of the heart on 
the black ocean of despair. Farewell, beau genie ! 
farewell, rare combination of lofty, intellectual 
strength, and that softness and sensibility, so ex- 
quisite in woman. It is no elaborate eulogium my 
pen would trace. Let the rising tear, that starts 
unbidden to the eye, as it dwells on the sorrows 
thou hast imaged forth with the heart's deep elo- 
quence, pay its honest, its sincere tribute to thy 
beautiful memory. 

We must not linger more over scenes so fraught 
with interesting associations. The high-wrought 
fancy stoops reluctant on its sweeping wing, to 
hold communion with the sordid, every-day world. 
Return we once more to the city of Rousseau, the 



GENEVA AS IT NOW IS. 167 

circumstance of whose birth (oh, changing world ! ) is 
now its chiefest honor ; vet, while burned the lamp 
of life, none heaped more willingly upon him the 
overwhelming load of opprobrium and abuse than 
the sons of his native city. You raise the pious 
fane, you exalt the perpetuating monument to em- 
balm the memory of departed genius ; yet why 
trample ye upon the best affections of the beating, 
suffering heart, until at last it finds refuge for ever, 
from its feverish pulsation, in the icy though wel- 
come embrace of death. 

Geneva has now but little to boast of, whether 
in literature or the arts. Tt is at present the head- 
quarters of bijouterie, the grand European bazaar 
of watches, trinkets, cameos, and jewels of every 
description. It is the half-way house between 
France and sunny Italy, and its chief wealth is 
derived from the broad and incessant stream of 
travel, that pours through it, depositing, like the 
fabled Pactolus, its golden sand profuse on either 
shore. Some quarters of the city, the more mod- 
ern, are handsome and well built; but it is in 
its picturesque situation, that consists the grand 
beauty of Geneva. I have visited no inland city in 
Europe, that can boast so charming a locale. Lake, 
river, mountain, vale, blend here in one beautiful 
ensemble. Leman, with its serene and glassy sur- 
face ; the impetuous Rhone ; " its durance o'er," 
leaping forth like the freed captive, wild with the 
first thrill of holy liberty ; these are meet themes 
for the rapt poet's lyre. 



168 SWITZERLAND. 

" Clear, placid Leinan, thy contrasted lake 

With the wide world I dwell in, is a thing 
Which warns me with its stillness to forsake 

Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 

The quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction ; once, I loved 

Torn Ocean's roar ; hut thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet, as if a sister's voice reproved, 
That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved." 

" Now where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between," &c. 

Before leaving Geneva, I will advert briefly to 
the character of its inhabitants, and offer a few 
general remarks on its present position, as com- 
pared with that it formerly occupied in the great 
European family. In manners and customs, as well 
as in language, the Genevois strikingly resemble 
their Gallic neighbours, differing in all, very essen- 
tially, from the inhabitants of Basle, Berne, and 
Zurich ; where the German admixture vastly pre- 
dominates. In fact, at the present day, Switzerland 
cannot be said to possess a distinct individual char- 
acter. The country itself exists, or rather its name, 
only by the forbearance of the powerful monarchs 
whose realms adjoin it. Were not the more en- 
lightened governments of England and France de- 
termined to maintain the balance of European 
power, Switzerland would have long since shared 
the fate of gallant, unhappy Poland ; and the con- 
quest would have been less sanguinary, for Switz- 
erland is degraded. She has fallen from her once 
lofty estate ; the best blood of her sons has been 
exchanged for foreign gold. The days of Morgar- 
ten and Sempach are passed away for ever; the 



PRESENT CONDITION OF THE SWISS. 169 

heroic devotion of an Erlach, or a Tell, finds no 
home in the breasts of the modern Swiss. What 
has been the cause of this rapid degeneracy ? 
Alas ! its germ existed in the excess of their great- 
est virtue. It was Swiss valor which gave the 
first strong impulse to the ruin of Switzerland. 
The fiery courage, that humbled the pride of Impe- 
rial Austria in the sanguinary encounters of the 
fourteenth century, was made an article of traffic, 
and sold to the highest bidder. The true wealth 
of a nation, industry at home, internal improve- 
ments, and cultivation of the soil were lost sight 
of and neglected, for the more dazzling yet preca- 
rious gains of mercenary warfare. Nor was this 
all. A restless militant spirit was generated, which 
the peace of succeeding ages has never been able 
to do away. Even to this day does the Swiss 
mercenary sell his services to the Roman, and tread 
with measured patrol the lofty porticos of the Vat- 
ican, and the stately colonnades of St. Peter's. In 
Naples may be seen, garrisoned by the hired Swit- 
zer, those important posts, which the King trusts not 
to the more than suspected fidelity of his own sub- 
jects. In France, too, but few years are past, since 
the Swiss troops formed the favorite escort and 
garde de corps of the King ; and they showed, in- 
deed, their devotion to the royal interest, by choos- 
ing rather to be shot down at their posts, than 
ignobly fly. At present, in Paris, Suisse is but 
another name for concierge, and you see inscribed 
upon the houses above the porter's lodge, Parlez 
22 



170 SWITZERLAND. 

au Suisse made use of indifferently with Parle z au 
concierge, sufficient evidence of the station that 
Swiss services are now usually employed in. It is 
a melancholy and a humiliating reflection to dwell 
upon, that in a clime, so ennobled by the hand of 
nature, the creature, man, should sink beneath all 
corresponding dignity. Yet what person of experi- 
ence, who, save the visionary enthusiast or the 
dreaming boy, can even hope to find it otherwise ? 
Those who mistake ignorance for simplicity of 
manner, and want of means for virtuous self-denial, 
may extol the morality of the Swiss. 

In a countrv like Switzerland, however, there 
will ever be found many who, from bitter experi- 
ence of the world's unsatisfying pursuits, have 
quitted the homes of their fathers to enjoy, in 
regions of stillness and repose, the fuller exercise 
of those noble faculties God has given them. 
Amonjr such may be found virtue, and the wisdom 
upon which true virtue is based : but look not for 
it amid the unenlightened mass. 

As I have said, the bright days of her power 
and political influence are for ever fled. Switzer- 
land can never a^ain be as once she was, when, 
with waving falchion and bristling spear, her pa- 
triotic sons thinned the serried ranks of the foe. At 
the present era numbers and force must ever deter- 
mine the final result; individual bravery, self-sacri- 
ficing as it may be, can oppose but slight resistance 
to numerical superiority. As well might the pine, 
on the mountain's side, expect to impede the thun- 



PRKSENT CONDITION OF THE SWISS. 171 

dering onset of the uprooting avalanche, as the 
scanty band of mountaineers, however brave and 
hardy, to oppose effectually the overwhelming 
masses of modern warfare. Let her cultivate, 
then, the mild arts of peace ; let her trust to her 
own domestic resources ; and, in pursuing the paths 
of Education and Industry, she will in the end at- 
tain the truest glory of an enlightened Republic. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



Journey to Lyons. — Annoying Police Examination. — Enlightening 
Effect of Gold on Politics. — Lyons and its Inhabitants. — Steamboat 
Passage down the Rhone. — Avignon. — Excursion to Vaucluse. 
— The celebrated Fountain. — Petrarch and his Laura. — A De- 
jeuner a la Fourchette. — Wines. — Temperance. — Nismes. — 
The Amphitheatre. — The Maison Carree. — Aqueduct of the Pont 
du Gard. 



I had now passed nearly a fortnight in Geneva, 
hoping each day to receive more favorable news 
from Italy ; but it seemed, that, with every returning 
traveller, there came yet more direful accounts of 
cholera, and its redoubtable aides-de-camp, quaran- 
tines, and cordons sanitaires. Being convinced that 
under such restrictions there could be but little 
pleasure in visiting that interesting country, I re- 
solved to defer my intended tour until a more 
favorable opportunity, and pass the interim in trav- 
elling over the fertile territory of vine-clad France. 
I was fortunate enough at Geneva to fall in with a 
fellow-countryman of the same way of thinking as 
myself, and together we set out upon our journey. 

Our first point of destination was Lyons. The 
diligence accomplishes the trajet in about twenty- 
two hours. Upon entering the frontier of France 
from Switzerland, the traveller is subjected to a 
strict and severe scrutiny from the government 
agents. Nowhere in Europe have I witnessed so 
prying a curiosity as these aforesaid gentlemen 



ENLIGHTENING EFFECT OF GOLD ON POLITICS. 173 

manifested. Not satisfied with the minutest in- 
vestigation of your effects, and with turning topsy- 
turvy every thing in portmanteau and valise, they 
were wanting in suitable respect towards your per- 
son, which, even at the Bureau ^Octroi (unless 
peculiar circumstances excite suspicion) is usually 
deemed inviolate. There were hands groping along 
beneath coat and vest in eager anticipation of com- 
ing in contact with specimens of the jewelry or 
watches of Geneva. Ordinarily, in all countries 
(for we must give even the devil his due) these 
gentlemen display much more sensibility and kind- 
ness of heart ; so that by the convincing argument 
of five or ten francs, as the case may be more or 
less urgent, you can be sure of satisfying their 
unprejudiced minds, that every thing is as straight 
and correct as needs be. 

Now, were I not writing a veritable history of 
travels, I should here take the opportunity of in- 
dulging in an episode, that should have for its 
subject the mysterious agency of that yellow min- 
eral, yclept " Gold," upon the feelings, judgments, 
and decisions of the very honest and respecta- 
ble body of men, who are set apart for the high 
purpose of ruling, or keeping within due lim- 
its, the humbler individuals of their species. I 
would treat of the magical power it not unfre- 
quently exhibits, in cleansing the breast of the 
patriotic politician from those insensate, pernicious 
plans, he deemed before for the good of his con- 
stituents and the state ; but which, when suddenly 
assisted by a copious draught of that potent elixir, 



174 LYONS. 

that opens to his keener vision the bright sceptre 
of power, he perceives, almost instinctively (and 
starts back amazed at his previous blindness), to be 
of the most anarchical and dangerous tendency. 
I should go on, I say, making a few remarks upon 
this singular and interesting subject, and I might 
perchance settle down upon a philosophical disqui- 
sition, respecting the truth or fallacy of the old 
French adage, Tout homme a son prix, did not the 
theme, in the first place, militate with the employ- 
ment previously designed for my pen, and, second- 
ly (and this is my more especial reason), were I not 
apprehensive, that, in so doing, I should be guilty 
of that most unpardonable crime in Modern Ethics, 
an unwise or malapropos expose of my own proper 
opinion. Flanked by these two judicious reasons, 
I shall abstain from further remark on this fruitful 
topic ; observing merely, as I take my leave, that, 
however generally an author may treat his subject, 
if, by any twist or contortion, his remarks may 
wear even the semblance of being applicable to 
particular quarters, they are very apt to find their 
way thither, and, despite the innocence of his in- 
tentions, to create towards him feelings of ill will 
or positive enmity ; a mishap no one can be more 
anxious to avoid than myself; therefore, I will lose 
no time in resuming the diligence, and once more 
for Lyons. 

After a tedious ride, over mountain and plain, 
we arrived at length at the barriers of this old and 
populous city. The usual half-minute of detention 
past, our ponderous vehicle was thundering along 



PASSAGE BY STEAM-BOAT DOWN THE RHONE. 175 

the sombre streets, and, speedily drawing up at the 
Bureau de diligence, left us to our powers of loco- 
motion. Preceded by commissionaire and luggage, 
we took the way a VHotel de V Europe, the most 
genteel establishment of the kind in Lyons. There 
we secured comfortable lodgings, and, having de- 
voted the brief hour to repast and siesta, sallied 
forth again to catch a glance at the city. 

Lyons is pleasantly situated on a narrow strip of 
land, between the rivers Rhone and Saone, which 
commingle their rapid waters at a trifling distance 
from its immediate precincts. The careless voyageur 
will find but little to amuse in Lyons ; but, in the 
eye of the American traveller, the fact alone, that 
it is so intimately connected through the medium 
of trade with the United States clothes it with 
interest. The manufacturers of Lyons may be 
said to be in a great measure dependent upon their 
relations with American importers, and when these 
relations received a severe, though temporary, blow 
from the immediate prospect of war between the 
two nations, the Lyonnais for a time suffered much 
distress in consequence. The sufferings too which 
this ill-fated city endured during the convulsive 
throes of the sanguinary revolution, invest it with 
a melancholy interest. Even to this day, though 
touched by Time's effacing fingers, their dark im- 
press has not entirely faded away. 

The most rapid communication between Lyons 
and the south of France is by the steam naviga- 
tion of the Rhone. A steam -boat leaves the pier 
for Avignon three times a week, quitting the former 



176 ARRIVAL AT AVIGNON. 

city at six in the morning, and accomplishing the 
trajct, a distance of one hundred and sixty miles, in 
twelve or thirteen hours. This rapid mode of 
conveyance offers an agreeable variety to the malle 
poste or diligence traveller ; and, heartily weary 
of rumbling voiture and grumbling postilion, we 
were fain to trust ourselves and fortunes to the 
gentler influences of steam and stream. The nav- 
igation of the Rhone is rather difficult from its 
frequent shoals and the extreme rapidity of its cur- 
rent ; and Frenchmen, it must be confessed, are 
but indifferent hands at best, where steam is the 
moving power. It is not to be wondered at, there- 
fore, that we grounded once or twice during the 
passage, but we had the good fortune to escape 
without serious injury. 

The banks of the Rhone, contrasted with the 
magnificent cotes of its sister Rhine, appear tame 
and deficient in picturesque beauty and grandeur ; 
but, despite the absence of these, there is some- 
thing inspiriting in the very velocity with which 
you skim the bounding wave ; rapidity of motion 
is of itself excitement enough, at least for me. 
At St. Esprit you pass beneath the noble bridge, 
that owes its existence to the monks of the Mid- 
dle Ages. It is a magnificent structure, and looks 
yet as durable as Old Time himself. We whirled 
through the wide limits of the centre arch, borne 
onward by the eddying stream, with a well nigh 
frightful velocity. At length we landed at the 
pier of Avignon, and set foot upon the soil, once 
so favored by the See of Rome. 



EXCURSION TO VAUCLUSE. 177 

Avignon is pleasantly situated upon the Rhone, 
and contains a population exceeding twenty thousand 
souls ; it is the principal town of a fertile and beau- 
tiful department. Among the interesting objects 
which the traveller should visit, the old Cathedral 
stands prominent. This remarkable edifice towers 
proudly yet, a memorial of those olden times when 
Avignon shared, with Imperial Rome, the favor of 
the Papal Chair ; the remains of two or three of the 
successors of St. Peter yet repose within the walls 
of the sanctuary. About fifteen miles from the 
city, the road winding through a fertile and vine- 
clad district, lies the celebrated village or hamlet 
of Vaucluse. My companion and myself made an 
excursion, one beautiful day, to this romantic site ; 
the drive was most delightful. The wide-spread 
champaign was clothed in the rich verdure of the 
happy vine, whose pliant arms, unable to sustain 
their precious burden, were depositing, in rich and 
tempting profusion, their gorgeous clusters on the 
teeming bosom of the earth. Happy, thrice happy 
South! soft and balmy are the airs that breathe 
their sweet incense over thy sunny clime, awaken- 
ing, with invisible influence, each nerve and fibre 
of the frame to more exquisite sensibility, until the 
rapt soul thrills under the glowing consciousness 
of thine inestimable value, oh wondrous boon of 
existence ! 

Two hours had well nigh elapsed, when our car- 
riage drew up at the little inn of Vaucluse, where, 
securing the services of a guide, we sallied forth 
to catch a glance at the celebrated fountain. The 
23 



178 THE FOUNTAIN OF VAUCLUSE. 

description of this mysterious fount demands an 
abler pen than mine to do full justice to the theme. 
Before obtaining a view of the gaping cavern, that 
bounds its unfathomed waters, there is an incon- 
siderable elevation to be surmounted. Upon the 
day of our excursion to Vaucluse, the weather was 
warm and sultry to an unusual degree. From the 
deep blue of a cloudless sky, the glowing sun of 
Provence was darting his intense rays upon the 
arid and exposed face of Nature. With us. how- 
ever, the extreme heat was of but short dura- 
tion ; for when, having completed the ascent of the 
little hillock, we made the first step down its 
opposite side, that shelves gradually to the very 
margin of the fountain, the change of temperature 
made itself on the instant most sensibly felt. The 
heat, but just now intolerable, was succeeded by 
a chilling coldness, that exhales from those silent 
and unknown depths, and ever pervades the re- 
cesses of that gloomy cavern. 

Upon arriving at the summit of the hillock before 
mentioned, the traveller cannot refrain from pausing 
a moment as he dwells, with mingled astonishment 
and awe, upon the sublimity of the scene that meets 
his eye. Lofty and abrupt, towers directly above 
him a perpendicular wall of massive rock, five or six 
hundred feet in altitude, while at his feet, scooped 
into its very heart, yawns the terrific chasm, with 
its contents of inky blackness. The blood of the 
spectator courses chill through each vein, as, in 
the first moment of surprise, he recoils aghast from 
that mysterious abyss. The descensus Averni and 



THE FOUNTAIN OF VAUCLUSE. 179 

Slygium, flumen of the Latin poet flit palpably 
before the excited sense ; and, were the solid rock 
to be riven at the moment to its very centre, his 
astonishment would be susceptible of no increase. 

We descended into the rocky enclosure, and 
bathed in those dark, silent waters. A section of 
rock, buried some six feet beneath the surface, 
juts to a small distance from the margin. Upon 
this rests the eye, with view as searching and dis- 
tinct, as though a medium no less subtile than the 
elastic air intervened only between it and the ob- 
ject upon which it rests ; an inch beyond all was 
chaotic blackness, suggesting to the mind the idea 
of that unknown, fathomless depth, that consti- 
tutes one of the strongest attributes of the Sub- 
lime. The cavern was extremely cold and damp, 
for the sun's genial rays had never penetrated its 
recesses, and the water was of a temperature to 
well-nigh paralyze the limbs ; yet we suffered no 
inconvenience from the exposure. Our guide look- 
ed upon it as quite a daring feat, akin probably to 
swimming the Hellespont, if his learning extended 
to that point. He had mentioned to us, previously, 
the extraordinary fact of a Russian gentleman's 
having, a few days before, bathed in the fountain, 
a circumstance which probably induced us to im- 
mortalize ourselves in like manner. 

Altogether the fountain of Vaucluse made an im- 
pression upon my mind which time cannot efface. 
Aside from the remarkable appearances that Nature 
there developes, it is associated in the memory with 
the life and productions of the most elegant and 



180 PETRARCH AND LAURA. — AVIGNON. 

tender of poets, and around it clings, as a wreath, 
the chaste souvenir of love the most Platonic, yet 
constant and sincere. While genius continues to 
have its worshippers, and love is looked upon as 
more than a word, the names of Petrarch and his 
Laura will render the pilgrimage to Vaucluse one 
of no small interest. There is yet shown to the 
visiter a column erected to the memory of Laura, and 
also the house she used to dwell in. But blocks of 
wood and stone are after all but useless memorials. 
The deathless page of Petrarch has stamped upon 
the spot, where glowed his bright genius and that 
passion which developed it, or was a component 
part, an immortality which needs not to borrow 
from monumental pile ; and faint indeed must be 
that merit, which depends on such aid for a name, 
when our generation shall have passed away, and 
" the places that now know us shall know us no 
more." 

The rapid hours were hurrying on the shades of 
evening, when we bade adieu to this spot, so fraught 
with poetic associations. Swift rolled the voiture, 
and soon we were reestablished in our comfortable 
lodgings at Avignon. The Hotel de PEurope in 
this city (a traveller should never forget the roof 
that shelters him) is an excellent and well-con- 
ducted establishment ; it was there, for the first 
time in France or elsewhere, that I sat down to a 
regular dejeuner a la fourchette, a description of 
meal but little known in this country. In the 
south of France, a dejeuner a, la fourchette, with 
the single exception of there being no preface of 



A DEJEUNER A LA FOURCHETTE. 181 

soup, (a sine qua non in French dining,) differs in 
no material point from the diner. Bottles of wine, 
gigots, pates, contelettes, fricandeaux, salades, &c, 
are scattered about the table in prolusion. A 
dessert succeeds, where you are regaled with the 
finest grapes and fruits of the season ; the whole 
concludes with a tasse de cafe and a petit verre de 
liqueur; and, thus fortified, you are presumed to be 
in good condition to hold out until the hour of din- 
ner, when a similar repast, upon a scale a trifle more 
ample, succeeds. The dejeuner at the table d?hote 
is usually served up at ten or half past, and the 
diner at half past five o'clock. Thus there are 
only two meals a day, but those substantial ones ; 
a custom I think, on many accounts, preferable to 
our own. 

The habit of drinking wine, both at breakfast and 
dinner, is very prevalent ; it is an indulgence, that 
the poorest peasant in Southern France is not obliged 
to abstain from, yet, with all this free use of the 
grape's exhilarating juice, intemperance is a vice but 
seldom met with. During a residence of more than 
a year in the Capital, and of several months in the 
various Departments, of France, I recollect to have 
seen but very few cases of positive inebriety ; cer- 
tainly not more than two or three among the native 
inhabitants. The ordinary wine of the country, des- 
tined for home consumption, is never alloyed by an 
admixture of spirituous liquors ; in strength it but 
little exceeds our common cider, and, mingled 
with water in equal quantities, forms a beverage 
at once agreeable and salutary. It seems to me, 



182 NISMES. 

that, as a table drink, this possesses numerous ad- 
vantages over those fashionable slops, coffee and 
tea, which, with us, circulate their slow, insidious 
poisons through all ranks of society. 

From Avignon we took the route to Nismes, 
being desirous of surveying those relics of Roman 
grandeur with which this city abounds. Nismes 
contains a population of more than forty thousand 
souls; its locale subjects it to numerous disadvan- 
tages in a commercial point of view, there being 
neither navigable stream nor canal in its vicinity. 
Notwithstanding these disadvantages, however, Nis- 
mes carries on an extensive trade in silken stuffs, 
&c. The heavy diligences, of which this city is a 
grand central point, do the slow work of transport- 
ation to iVvignon and Marseilles, where the Rhone 
and Mediterranean offer their facilities. Nismes is 
provided with a handsome theatre, and, with its 
wide, airy avenues and well-built edifices, it pre- 
sents a striking and tasteful appearance. 

But it is not as a modern town, that this place 
possesses an interest ; no, its associations, as you 
roam along the wide streets, are all with the past. 
The stupendous amphitheatre, so vast and colossal, 
what a world of imaginings does it not call forth ? 
You gaze upon it, and reflect upon the thousands 
of admiring spectators, whose plaudits have rung 
through that now untenanted and desolate enclos- 
ure. In imagination, you revert to the sanguinary 
scenes that have been enacted upon its ample 
arena. It was here the gladiator pursued his 
bloody game ; it was here the savage beast and 



THE AMPHITHEATRE. — MAISON CARREE. 183 

desperate criminal closed in the throttling em- 
brace of death. Centuries have swelled the huge 
volume of the past, and these sanguinary orgies 
have been swept away in their march ; yet re- 
mains still the huge edifice. You walk around it ; 
you ascend its massive steps, and look about you ; 
your imagination becomes filled with the near view 
of the stupendous grandeur of a nation, which, in 
the mere wantonness of its sports, could rear a 
pile like this. The entire amphitheatre is yet in 
tolerable preservation. Although by no means so 
large or imposing as the Colosseum at Rome, I 
should not hesitate in pronouncing it as second only, 
upon the continent of Europe, to that stupendous 
ruin. In ascending the amphitheatre, and while 
at a considerable height from the ground, the spec- 
tator is surprised at the prodigious size of the frag- 
ments of rock that compose the walls. We are 
indeed at a loss to conceive, by what process the 
ancients were enabled to raise such enormous blocks 
of stone to so great a height, and arrange them in 
such admirable uniformity and precision without 
the slightest perceptible use of cement. 

When the admiration has become exhausted with 
gazing on this stupendous pile, the tourist should 
turn to contemplate that exquisite bijou, the Mai- 
son Carree, without a doubt the most beautiful 
vestige of antiquity out of Italy, and excelled but 
by few, even in that chosen land of the past. The 
Muison Carree in its masonry contrasts most glar- 
ingly with the amphitheatre. Its workmanship is 
of the extremest nicety, and the chaste entablature 



1 84 NISMES. 

of its Corinthian columns is so exquisite, in its 
fretted moulding, as to possess all the delicacy of 
the finest lace-work. This remarkable building 
has been employed, during the long lapse of cen- 
turies, for manifold purposes. In one age it has 
been the religious temple. Another has seen it 
degraded to the vile uses of the stable. At pre- 
sent it serves as a museum, and contains several 
paintings ; bnt none remarkable for their excel- 
lence. The design and construction of the build- 
ing are extremely beautiful, and, from its fairylike 
elegance of proportion, here wedded to strength, 
it has been selected as a model for many elegant 
modern edifices. So perfect is the universal sym- 
metry, that the building, at first sight, strikes your 
eye as much smaller than it really is, and it is not 
until after taking a minute survey of the whole, 
that you become aware of its actual dimensions. 
There is not a single line of harshness in its whole 
contour, and the eye fastens upon its admirable 
proportions with the same delight that the glowing 
canvass or the breathing marble could inspire. 

A few miles from the city of Nismes is another 
relic of Roman grandeur, which the traveller should 
by no means omit visiting. I refer to the aque- 
duct of the Pont du Gard. There is a kind of 
mellow, moonlight softness about this pile, that 
fascinates the beholder. In dimensions it is much 
inferior to the celebrated aqueduct at Caserta, the 
most colossal undertaking of the kind that modern 
or perhaps ancient times have witnessed ; in sym- 
metrical elegance and harmony, however, the Pont 



AQUEDUCT OF THE PONT DU GARD. 185 

du Gard much excels it. The stone that com- 
poses it is soft and easily broken, and yet it has 
been able to resist the effects of time and temper- 
ature for two thousand years. 

Not far from the Pont, which is concealed by 
surrounding hills from the view, until you are al- 
most upon it, 1 met a laborer, and requested him 
to show me the nearest way to the object of my 
search ; he accompanied me to the very spot. At 
my request, with his rude implement of labor he 
detached from the pile a small fragment of stone, 
which I possessed myself of with all the avidity 
of an antiquary, and subsequently, for lack of 
better, with the same rough substitute for a chisel, 
he carved upon the time-worn rock the initials 
of my name. Learning is but very little diffused 
among the lower classes in Southern France, and 
my rustic friend had no more definite idea of the 
form that letters should assume, than he had of 
the Man in the Moon. Nevertheless, with pickaxe 
in hand, he followed the course my finger marked 
out, and soon, engraved upon the yellow rock, 
appeared broad and deep, though not in nicest 
workmanship, the wished-for letters. I gave my 
artist two francs for his trouble, and we parted, 
no doubt mutually pleased with each other. 



24 



CHAPTER XIV. 



Marseilles. — The Quai. — Water Excursions. — Hotel de Ville. -^~ 
Cause of the Neglect of the Fine Arts. — The Old Town. — The 
New Town. — Theatre. — Amusements. — Female Pedlers in Cafes. 

— Manners of the Inhabitants. — Charlatanerie. — Tir au Pistolet. 

— Montagnes Russes. — Toulon. — The Harbour. — The Monte- 
bello Ship of the Line. — Royal Arsenal. — Character of the Mar- 
seillais. — Their Language and Personal Appearance. — The Wo- 
men of Southern France. — A Remark on then- peculiar Traits, 
Moral and Physical. 



Upon returning to Nismes, we again took a sur- 
vey of the curiosities in which this interesting city 
abounds, and then secured seats in the diligence 
for Marseilles. The traveller will not forget his 
first glance at the blue waters of the Mediterra- 
nean, the sea that washes the classic shores of 
Italy and Greece, with those of distant Palestine. 
The orb of day was but just risen, as our vehicle 
surmounted the summit of a hill, that commanded 
a distant view of its wide expanse ; the first glimpse 
I caught of its azure swell, filled my heart with a 
thrill of gladness. Long had been the time since 
I had gazed upon the " glad waters of the dark 
blue sea," and, at their first vision, there came over 
me those vivid emotions of pleasure that cause the 
heart to beat strong and rapid, as when, after long 
separation, we hail again the welcome presence of 
a true and tried friend. We entered the city, and 
took lodgings at the Hotel des Ambassadeurs. 



THE PORT OF MARSEILLES. 187 

The traveller, who finds himself for the first 
time in the city of Marseilles, will be surprised at 
the peculiar and picturesque aspect of all that 
meets his eye ; the long, regular, and well-built 
streets, with the bustling throng that gives them 
life and animation ; the various and picturesque 
costumes one is constantly meeting with ; then, 
too, the splendid cafes, glittering with their hundred 
mirrors, and swarming with careless multitudes, 
engaged in sipping their aromatic beverage, or 
absorbed in the oblivious cigar, or intent upon the 
unfailing resource of domino. All is rife with mo- 
tion and gayety. 

Turn now your steps towards the Quai, and the 
scene is yet more animated. Within the crowded 
port are streaming the flags of every maritime na- 
tion. I saw the " star-spangled banner " floating 
cheerily in the breeze, and, fanned by the same 
airs, were jauntily sporting the flags of England 
and of the Netherlands, with those of the numer- 
ous powers that line the extended coasts of the 
Mediterranean and Levant. Close by the piers 
were moored scores of boats, gayly cushioned, their 
several masters eagerly requesting the precious 
freight of your person. These water cabriolets call 
to mind the land ones of Paris ; their masters 
are equally officious, and happily under a like ex- 
cellent supervision. Motioning assent to one of 
these Neptanes, you leap into his ready boat ; at a 
loss, however, to conceive how he will manage to 
extricate himself from the tangled mass of skiffs 
and wherries that environ you. This he does, 



1 88 MARSEILLES. 

however, very dexterously ; but the secret is in 
the construction of the boats. They are put to- 
gether in a manner firm enough to resist the rudest 
concussion. A few strokes of the oar, and you 
are floating on the turbid bosom of the wave, in 
the open space, while on either side the shipping 
extends, dense and unbroken, to the fortress that 
commands the entrance of the port. These boats 
pull far out into the open harbour ; you take them 
either by the course, as it is called, or by the hour, 
and the terms, being regulated by law, are suf- 
ficiently moderate. The better class of boats are 
provided with sails. At the close of a sultry af- 
ternoon, when the faint evening breeze is spring- 
ing up, it is a pleasant mode of passing an hour, 
as, reclining on the cushion, with flowing sheet 
expanded to the breeze, you glide over the serene 
and peaceful waters, absorbed in those pleasing 
reveries the soft scene naturally gives birth to. 

There is to me a luxury in scenes like this ; 
the gentle zephyr, that wafts you along, breathes 
softly over the awakened frame ; Nature seems all 
quietude and repose ; no sound breaks in upon 
the stillness, save that of the rippling waters, 
as in faint murmurs they close and eddy around 
the advancing prow. Were I a poet, I would 
woo the coy muse under the soft influences of mo- 
ments like these ; for it is then that the immortal 
mind, freed from the debasing contact of a sordid 
world, expands under the conscious possession of 
its own glorious attributes ; it is then that present 
themselves in luminous array, before the soaring 



CAUSE OF THE NEGLECT OF THE FINE ARTS. 189 

imagination, those mysterious embodyings of the 
Sublime and the Beautiful, whose fiery impress shall 
glow in after time on the inspired page, to give 
the world assurance of that heaven-born flame, 
which, albeit not intense as in ages past, is yet 
not all extinct. 

The city of Marseilles is extremely deficient as 
regards public edifices ; there is also a most lam- 
entable paucity of churches, and not a building 
in the city, that I can recollect, which is worthy 
the dignified name of Cathedral ; a combination of 
circumstances, it must be confessed, that argues 
but little in favor of the Marseillais, as far as good 
taste or morality and religion are concerned. The 
sole public edifice in Marseilles, that would attract 
the stranger's attention, is the Hotel de Ville, 
erected after the designs of the first French archi- 
tect of his day. To his correctness of taste and 
nicety of chisel, the elaborate, beautifully worked 
facade bears abundant witness. 

As it respects the fine arts, the city is also 
equally deficient. If we except one or two masterly 
productions by David, illustrative of the Plague at 
Marseilles, and some half dozen other respectable 
ones by various masters, treating principally upon 
the same subject, the student of painting can find 
nothing in his art to elicit admiration. These facts 
will appear singular to the reader, upon the reflec- 
tion that Marseilles is the third city, in point of 
population and commerce, of the most enlightened 
kingdom upon the European continent ; but the 
circumstance may be easily accounted for. The 



190 MARSEILLES. 

city was originally built solely for commercial pur- 
poses ; its situation explains that, and under the 
auspices of commerce alone has it swelled to its 
present magnitude. In Europe, capitals only are 
embellished and adorned ; the fine arts but rarely 
deign to visit the haunts where busy Commerce 
holds the sway. Hence, in Marseilles we must 
look, for those advantages, which an exclusively 
business city is presumed to possess ; these we 
certainly discover. In addition to this, the city, 
taken as a whole, may be denominated decidedly 
handsome. It contains a population of a hundred 
thousand, or, according to other accounts, one hun- 
dred and twenty thousand souls. Marseilles is 
divided into the old and new town. The old town 
is of course a dark, confused mass of buildings, 
barely perforated by dingy, sombre streets, within 
whose narrow limits the sun's genial rays can find 
place but an hour or two in the day ; in conse- 
quence, they are damp, and, what is worse, not a 
little noisome, from the filth that but too usually 
disgraces the vieux quartiers of French provincial 
towns. 

But the new town, which is very extensive, is 
laid out in an open and regular manner ; the streets 
are wide, straight, and airy, — some of them strik- 
ingly handsome. The Rue de Rome is considered 
by many travellers the finest street upon the con- 
tinent of Europe ; its remarkable length, piercing 
the city through in a perfectly direct line, with 
the regularity and just proportion of its buildings, 
certainly gives it no poor claim to such precedence. 



THEATRE. — AMUSEMENTS. 191 

The Rue St. Ferrcol and the Rue de Paradis, run- 
ning parallel with the former, are also elegant 
streets. The Rue de Beauvau, which opens upon 
the Canebiere, though inferior to the before-men- 
tioned avenues in length, is jet more conspicuous 
from the great size and towering height of its 
edifices. In this street are to be found most of 
the principal hotels ; the Hotel des Ambassadeurs, 
where we took lodgings, the Hotel des Princes, 
Hotel de Beauvau, &c. Here also is the Theatre, 
which, standing isolated in the midst, terminates 
the street, giving its name to an extensive square, 
of which it forms a side. This theatre is a large 
building, and rather imposing in its external ap- 
pearance ; the interior, however, cannot be pro- 
nounced elegant. The performances, although tol- 
erable, are by no means of that high order one 
would expect to discover in the principal salle de 
spectacles of a city like Marseilles. Much confusion 
arises from the circumstance of every one being ad- 
mitted indiscriminately behind the scenes, a practice, 
which, besides embarrassing the entire business of 
the stage, is very destructive to the general effect 
of the pieces represented, as well as to the general 
reputation of the actresses that appear in them. 

The amusements at Marseilles, during the warm 
season, are of such a nature as the enervating in- 
fluence of the climate would naturally predispose 
to. The cafes, with their agreeable concomitants, 
appear to be the principal seats of attraction. You 
may frequently observe the habitues of these resorts, 
comfortably seated on chairs or benches disposed 



192 MARSEILLES. 

along the trottoirs, sipping their coffee or contem- 
plating the cigar's wavy wreath, by the hour to- 
gether ; but those are usually foreigners, as the 
indolent Turk or saturnine Spaniard. The French- 
man is too mercurial for so long a seance. 

Apropos of the cafes, there is one thing about 
them, which I do not remember having seen in ei- 
ther those of Paris, Lyons, or Bordeaux. 1 allude 
to the custom of peddling, or vending petty arti- 
cles, which prevails in these resorts to a great ex- 
tent. The visiter is scarcely seated at his table, 
awaiting the arrival of the garron, before his auricu- 
lar nerves are tickled with the mellifluous tones of a 
voice, breathing out accents like these. Monsieur, 
voulez-vous une telle ou une telle chose ? fen ai de 
toute variete; upon turning, you behold at your side 
a pretty pedleress, with her magasin de modes com- 
pressed within the narrow compass of a single box. 
A spice of curiosity, or a hint from that innate 
feeling, which ever induces a well-bred man to ex- 
tend regard and protection to the beau sexe, prompts 
the unsuspecting stranger to inspect the pretty 
vender's merchandise. Here her grand point is 
gained. A powerful battery of smile and repartee, 
effectively served by the piquant features of a 
pretty brunette, can easily accomplish the rest ; and 
the result is, that, almost unconsciously, the pur- 
chaser finds himself loaded with a quantity of 
articles, for which he has not the least possible 
use. But this, the more immediate, is not the 
worst result. The improvident stranger straight- 
way becomes a mark for the whole corps of the 



MANNERS OF THE INHABITANTS. 193 

trafficking sisterhood ; and, before a week has passed 
over his head in Marseilles, his purse will assure 
him, that, whatever may be his softer hopes in 
perspective, he has at least for that established a 
very ruinous precedent. 

There is, it seems to me, a laisser alter vein per- 
vading the manners of all ranks of society at Mar- 
seilles. Liberties are suffered with much toler- 
ance, which, if taken in colder regions, would no 
doubt subject the offender to personal chastisement 
from the annoyed party, or consign him to the ten- 
der mercy of the law's myrmidons. For instance, 
you are sitting, some delightful day, at your open 
window, in the third or fourth story, as we will 
suppose, of your hotel. All of a sudden, your 
meditations are interrupted by the grinning appari- 
tion of a monkey, fantastically costumed, in the 
act of scrambling over your window-sill. Around 
the animal's neck is a collar, from which depends 
a small chain, and to that is attached a cord. Be- 
low, with the extremity of the string in hand, 
stands, in supplicating posture, a little boy (Savoy- 
ards they are termed), who implores your gener- 
osity pour la grace de del to the amount of a 
few Hards. You throw him the trifling pittance ; 
the monkey acknowledges the donation with a 
graceful obeisance, then quits his elevated position 
and descends once more to terra jirma. In in- 
stances like the preceding, the monkey generally 
constitutes the entire property, both real and per- 
sonal, of his boy-master, and on this account, as 
well as from the natural instigation of a kindly 
25 



194 MARSEILLES. 

disposition, that all trades, however humble, should 
have their quota of success, the Frenchman gives 
his sous, and overlooks the intrusion. 

The lower classes in the South of France are 
ignorant, and, as a natural consequence, supersti- 
tious. While I was at Marseilles, a convincing 
proof of the truth of this observation was afforded 
me ; it was, by the bye, an incident similar to that 
which Auber has selected as a vehicle for the 
charming music of Le Philtre. One day, while 
walking in the Canebicre, I was startled by the 
loud music of drum and fife, and, repairing to the 
spot from whence the sounds proceeded, I discov- 
ered, mounted upon the box of a carriage, to which 
were attached two jaded animals, a personage gay- 
ly dressed, in a costume similar to that worn by 
our crack circus riders. When a sufficient multi- 
tude was collected the music ceased, and all await- 
ed in respectful silence the health-restoring words 
that were to issue from the lips of this itinerant 
iEsculapius. With a phial in either hand, he com- 
menced haranguing the crowd most energetically 
upon the virtue of his nostrums. For all ailments 
incidental to the body or mind, for the sharp pangs 
of unrequited love, the subtile poison of green-eyed 
jealousy, had he infallible panaceas. In fine, his 
medicaments were of a nature potent enough to 
put to flight the whole army of diseases. The 
crowd pressed forward to possess themselves of 
those precious phials, eagerly exchanging their coin 
for elixirs of such inestimable value. The farce 
continues until Monsieur Charlatan has got rid of 



MONT AGNES RUSSES. 195 

his drugs, and his patients of their money, when 
the doctor, like a skilful general, draws off his 
forces to make preparations for another campaign. 

While on the subject of amusements in Mar- 
seilles, I must not neglect to mention the Tir au 
Pistolet, where a gentleman may find it worth the 
while to kill an hour or two in improving his cor- 
rectness of eye and hand, thus combining a prof- 
itable result with the lighter enjoyment of the 
passing hour. In France, unless a man be gifted 
with a peaceful and placid disposition, he should 
not neglect becoming a good shot or a skilful 
swordsman, accomplishments he must possess in 
self-defence. This over, you can jump into your 
cabriolet, and, leaving the dusty city behind, repair to 
where the Montagues Russes offer to the stranger 
a novel and exciting species of amusement. These 
Montagnes Russes, which, it is unnecessary to in- 
form the reader, are mountains of wood, consist of 
semicircular railways, elevated at the superior part 
to a very considerable height. You ascend to this 
lofty point by means of an inclined plane, thick- 
studded with transverse pieces of wood to prevent 
the feet from slipping. Arrived at the desired emi- 
nence, you enter a little shed, where are several 
cars ready for immediate service, and a man in wait- 
ing to attend your behest. The descent from this 
point looks not a little perilous to the unpractised 
eye ; but, being assured there is no actual danger, 
your friend and self enter the car, which is intended 
to accommodate but two. Securely braced in the 
seat, each, with one arm around the other's waist, 



196 EXCURSION TO TOULON. 

(its fellow firmly compressing the back of the low 
car), anxiously awaits the impulse that hurls the 
light vehicle down the precipitous descent of fifteen 
or twenty feet, with a momentum which it would 
seem must swerve it from the perpendicular, and 
involve the rash occupants in immediate destruc- 
tion. But no ; the only result is a stunning ve- 
locity, outspeeding the wings of the rushing wind, 
and you are whirled onward, scarce able to draw 
breath, far along the course, until at last the dead 
level, and obstacles interposed for the purpose, put 
a period to your swift career. After a few trials, 
this exercise loses its aspect of terror, and commu- 
nicates only an agreeable excitement. It is, in- 
deed, quite a popular diversion, and during festivals 
and holydays forms no inconsiderable feature in 
the sports of both sexes. 

We had now exhausted the curiosities and amuse- 
ments of Marseilles, and that fell demon, that ever 
stalks hand in hand with Satiety, strenuously in- 
sisted upon a change of scene. We turned our 
attention first of all upon Toulon. It was from 
this city that we had originally intended to take 
passage on board one of the government steam- 
ships for Algiers, but the plan never ripened into 
execution. My friend, an English naval officer with 
whom we had become acquainted, and myself, se- 
cured the coupe of the diligence for Toulon. We 
set out upon the excursion at about six o'clock, 
P. M., and, although the distance but little exceeds 
forty miles, did not arrive until nearly the same 
hour the ensuing morning. Toulon is a city con- 



APPEARANCE OF THE HARBOUR. 197 

taining a population of twenty thousand souls. It 
is built upon a narrow strip of land, that intervenes 
between the base of a lofty hill and the blue wa- 
ters of the Mediterranean. As a naval depot, it is 
a station of great importance, ranking as the sec- 
ond in the kingdom. 

The harbour of Toulon is admirably adapted by 
nature for the purposes to which man has applied 
it. A lofty range of hills, encircling it on all sides 
save one, interposes an impassable barrier to the 
infuriate tempest ; the only pass, where the foe 
could assail it with chance of success, is of com- 
paratively little width, and could be easily defend- 
ed at an hour's warning. Within this secure in- 
closure, all is well arranged and commodious ; the 
roomy, noiseless expanse, that could afford wide 
anchorage to hundreds of ships, contrasts agreea- 
bly with the busy yet contracted port of Marseilles. 
The waters are clear * and profound, and, upon 
their unruffled bosom, ride securely the proud bul- 
warks of Maritime France. Here the colossal three- 
decker and the beautiful frigate were sleeping on 
the unchanging wave,f until the thundering voice 
of War should arouse their latent energies, and bid 

* The waters of the Mediterranean at Tonlon are remarkably 
clear and translucent. While visiting that port, we took advantage 
of a fine day for an excursion about the harbour, and engaged a 
small sail-boat for the purpose ; here and there, where it consisted of 
more shining particles, the bottom could be distinctly discerned at 
the depth of seven or eight fathoms. So clear and tranquil was the 
element, that our little boat seemed suspended, as though in air, upon 
its motionless bosom. 

f The Mediterranean, along the shores of France, is not perceptibly 
affected by tides. 



198 TOULON. — THE MOiNTEBELLO. 

them once more expose to the wooing breeze each 
ready sail, and plough again the briny deep. 

In the course of the day, as we were roaming 
about the streets, our English friend encountered 
an intimate acquaintance, who held a situation 
similar to his own in the French Marine. Under 
passport of this gentleman's epaulette, we were 
admitted to a view of all worth the seeing in the 
Arsenal and Navy Yard of Toulon ; and, what 
gratified us more than all, we were enabled through 
his politeness to visit the first-rate ship of the line, 
Montebello. This splendid three-decker, perhaps the 
finest ship in the French Navy, mounted a battery 
of one hundred and twenty guns, all at that time 
on board. She was in complete order, ready for 
sea, and was expected to sail in eight or ten days 
from that time. The officers of the ship, with the 
proverbial courtesy of Frenchmen, allowed us am- 
ple opportunity of gratifying the stranger's beset- 
ting sin, curiosity. For myself, — as it was the first 
ship of the line, belonging to a foreign power, I 
had ever enjoyed the opportunity of visiting, and 
the largest one upon whose deck my foot had ever 
trod, excepting our own sea-monster, the redoubt- 
able Pennsylvania, — I gave free scope to my curi- 
osity, taking a minute survey of every thing. The 
three decks of this noble ship displayed the most 
formidable battery I had ever witnessed, and, as 
if to relieve the eye after a contemplation of these 
death-dealing engines, every thing around was ar- 
ranged in that neat, ship-shape manner, so conso- 
nant with the feelings of your true sailor. One 



RETURN TO MARSEILLES. 199 

might well, while gazing upon her formidable ar- 
mament and admirable appointments, exclaim with 
the impassioned Poet, 

" Who would not brave the battle-fire, the wreck, 
To move the monarch of her peopled deck." 

After leaving the side of this fine ship, whose 
imposing appearance I shall not soon forget, we 
visited the Royal Arsenal, and passed through its 
various apartments. Here, in well-burnished array, 
glittered arms of every description, offensive and 
defensive. It was indeed a brave display of war- 
like implements. But I had seen yet finer collec- 
tions than this ; that at the Tower in London, 
those at the Musee d?Artilleric in Paris, and the 
Grand Arsenal at Vienna, being more curious and 
complete. 

The day was thus passed in the agreeable occu- 
pations I have essayed to describe, and, when the 
afternoon was fading into the dusk of advancing 
eve, we had recourse once again to the diligence, 
and retraced the slow and weary way to Mar- 
seilles. Arriving there at four o'clock in the morn- 
ing, we repaired hastily to our hotel, and I for one 
lost no time in summoning to my aid the coy 
nymph, Sleep, in whose Lethean embrace slum- 
bered each sense, until the sun was shining bright 
and high in the blue heavens. 

Before bidding a final adieu to this city, I must 
request the tolerance of the courteous reader for 
a moment, to be employed in touching upon the 
character, customs, language, and general appear- 
ance of its inhabitants. The Marseillais, I refer 






200 MARSEILLES. 

more particularly to the mass, have the reputation 
of possessing a fickle and insubordinate disposition. 
During the terrible struggles of the Revolution, a 
large body of the Marseillais played a most con- 
spicuous part in its sanguinary orgies ; and their 
character to this day is essentially the same, though 
modified of course by circumstances. Add to this 
the fact of their being removed more than five 
hundred miles from the capital, and it will not be 
wondered at, that they feel but comparatively little 
interest in the general government, and are, when 
occasion offers, something prone to sedition and 
revolt. Under the iron rule of the present mon- 
arch, there is, indeed, but faint probability of such 
occasion's presenting ; for his policy is based upon 
safer and surer principles than that which regu- 
lated the cabinets of his predecessors. The inces- 
sant patrol, the martial notes of drum and horn, 
swelling ever on the air, the burnished tube and 
ready bayonet, speak to all in a language none can 
misunderstand. 

With respect to the language, or patois, as it is 
termed, almost wholly in use among the lower 
orders of the people, it is a dialect exhibiting but 
faint resemblance to legitimate French, and such 
as no one from Paris or the northern departments 
of France could in the least understand. It is 
said to bear a very ancient date, anterior to that 
of the French language as now spoken. In its 
terminations it is musical, and well adapted to poesy 
and song. This dialect is no doubt either the same 
as, or very analogous to, the Provenrale, in which 



THE MARSEILLAIS. 201 

the gallant troubadours of the Middle Ages were 
wont to clothe their chivalrous minstrelsy, as they 
sighed forth their faith and devotion to the listen- 
ing ear of ladye love, or sang in bolder measure 
the fierce delights that wait on the red battle. 

As I have said above, this patois is in universal 
use among the lower classes. To acquire the 
French idioms, they are obliged to study them as 
would foreigners, so that the speaking the lan- 
guage of their country in an intelligible, not to say 
grammatical manner, is held as quite an accom- 
plishment, placing its possessor a grade above his 
fellows. Of course, these remarks have no refer- 
ence whatever to the better classes, among whom 
the language of the realm is spoken with as much 
purity and elegance as in any circles of the king- 
dom. 

In person the Marseillais rather exceeds the 
middle height. He possesses a quick and lively 
air, and a physiognomy that betrays an admixture 
of Italian and Spanish with the original Gallic 
stock. The women may be, collectively, consid- 
ered handsome ; on their olive cheeks dwell the 
warm charms of the piquante brunette ; their bril- 
liant eyes and dark locks tell of the glowing South, 
and give token of those ardent feelings which Na- 
ture has implanted within them. In beauty of 
feature, and symmetrical elegance of person, the 
women of Southern France lose not in a compar- 
ison with the daughters of sunny Italy, but they 
yield the palm to the dark-eyed houris of Spain. 
They are generally distinguished by an easy grace- 
26 



202 MARSEILLES. 

fulness of manner, and an agreeable, playful vi- 
vacity. That these, in a country where female 
virtue is not protected by the strong barrier of 
public opinion, should lead to occasional instances 
of frailty is not to be wondered at ; but in taking 
note of the evil we should not allow the good to 
escape us ; we should not overlook the thousand 
examples of that deep, unchanging devotion, dwel- 
ling in hearts that allow no medium between love 
and hate. Shall the regions of the South, where 
the sun's burning rays excite into fever the cours- 
ing current of life, be submitted to a test applica- 
ble alone to those colder climes, where the chilling 
snows and icy barriers of well nigh perennial win- 
ter congeal into comparative torpor the softer emo- 
tions of the soul ? But I must leave this question 
to be answered according to the fancy of the en- 
lightened reader, and resume a tour, longer inter- 
rupted at this point than was my purpose. 



CHAPTER XV. 

Montpellier. — Promenades. — Ancient Pile. — Medical School. — 
Young and Narcissa. — Narcissa's Toinb. — The Canal de Langue- 
doc. — Travelling on it. — Toulouse. — Objects of Interest. — An- 
tiquities. — Places of Amusement. — Journey to Bordeaux. — De- 
scription of the City. — Theatre. — Corn Mill. — Montaigne. — 
Bordeaux and Marseilles compared. — Travelling by Malle Poste. 
— Route to Paris. — Poictiers. — Tours. — Extensive Quai. — The 
Loire. — Blois. — Orleans. — La Pucelle. — Arrival at Paris. 

Once more we are moving along the proud cotes 
of the classic Mediterranean, and Montpellier is 
our place of destination. Montpellier! how that 
name calls forth the sweet associations of serene 
and cloudless skies, of balmy and health-restoring 
airs. To this city how oft has the fond invalid, 
cheered by the delusive rays of hope, traced his 
last, lingering journey, to find, alas ! but the rem- 
edy of the tomb. 

The city of Montpellier is distant about seventy 
miles, in a northwesterly direction from Marseilles. 
It is situated about five miles from the Mediterra- 
nean, and enjoys a locale bold, elevated, and airy. 
Its elevated site, however, is not without disad- 
vantage, leaving the city open and exposed to the 
sweeping violence of the winds, that come laden 
with the piercing humors of the salt sea. On this 
account, notwithstanding all that has been said of 
the salubrity of its air and climate, I should think 
that Montpellier could not be other than an un- 



204 MONTPELLIER. 

favorable residence for persons suffering under pul- 
monic complaints. For restoring, however, to the 
original healthy tone a nervous system, relaxed by 
sickness or sedentary pursuits, its bracing air is 
undoubtedly highly favorable. The population of 
the city is estimated at between thirty and forty 
thousand. A few of the streets are wide and ele- 
gant ; but generally, as in the greater number of 
old French towns, the thoroughfares are narrow 
and incommodious, and the houses thrown up with 
but little regard to taste or elegance. 

There are several pleasant promenades ; one I 
remember quite delightful. It is a constructed es- 
planade, upon the summit of the city's extremest 
elevation. About this beautiful promenade are 
disposed benches for the convenience of visiters. 
In the centre of the area rises a Grecian temple, 
whose roof protects from the rays of an ardent 
sun, the sparkling waters of a fountain, for which 
the building may be considered a reservoir. With- 
out the walls of this temple, pour from frequent 
mouths, with murmuring fall, those limpid waters. 
The effect of the whole is light and beautiful in 
the extreme. 

From this delightful promenade, a fine and most 
extensive view is enjoyed. The city of Montpel- 
lier lies at your feet. Passing that, the eye ranges 
over the long sweep of adjacent country, and rests 
on the waters of the deep blue sea, as they kiss 
the distant horizon. Immediately below, and con- 
tiguous to the esplanade upon which you are stand- 
ing, commences its protracted length, and stretches 



THE MEDICAL SCHOOL. 205 

far in the distance, with continuous arch, a pile, 
which might once have been a Roman aqueduct. 
This ruin is interesting from its great extent, and 
more particularly so, as a vestige of those remote 
ages, when the Roman Eagle fastened his claws 
upon the heart of conquered Gaul. 

Of a clear day, from the elevation of which I 
am speaking, may be caught a glimpse of the Pyr- 
enees' distant peaks on the one hand, and on the 
other can be discerned, well nigh melted to mist, 
in the distance, your lofty summits, Eternal Alps. 

Montpellier has long been noted for the excel- 
lence of its Ecole de Medecine, and for the num- 
ber and wisdom of the faculty there assembled. 
Probably no city in France, with the exception of 
Paris, offers so many advantages to the student of 
medicine. The Anatomical Theatre is on a re- 
markably extensive scale, and is said to be capable 
of accommodating two thousand spectators. There 
is also in this city a well-endowed public library, 
containing between thirty and forty thousand vol- 
umes. 

While at Montpellier, the traveller who is fa- 
miliar with the subject of Young's immortal poem, 
will not omit to visit the spot, where the bereaved 
father, by stealth, at night, consigned to their orig- 
inal dust the remains of his much loved child. 

" What could I do ? What succour ? what resource ? 
With pious sacrilege a grave I stole, 
With impious piety that grave I wronged. 
Short in my duty, coward in my grief, 
More like her murderer than friend, I crept 
With soft, suspended step ; and, muffled deep 



206 MONTPELLIER. 

In midnight darkness, whispered my last sigh. 

I whispered what should echo through their realms, 

Nor writ her name whose tomb should pierce the skies. 

Presumptuous fear ! How durst I dread her foes, 

While Nature's loudest dictates I obeyed? 

Pardon necessity, blest shade ! Of grief 

And indignation rival bursts I poured ; 

Half execration mingled with my prayer, 

Kindled at man, while I his God adored; 

Sore grudged the savage land her sacred dust, 

Stamped the cursed soil, and with humanity 

(Denied Narcissa) wished them all a grave." 

It was Saturday when we arrived at Montpel- 
lier, and early the ensuing day we repaired to the 
garden, within whose precincts yet repose the re- 
mains of Narcissa. Arrived at the gate, we were 
denied admittance by the old gardener, upon the 
plea that no visiters were allowed to ramble in 
the gardens of a Sunday. We told him our reli- 
gious errand, and that we were travellers expecting 
to leave that evening or early the coming morn ; 
in fine, we poured upon him as moving a torrent 
of French entreaty as was at our command, to no 
purpose ; he turned a deaf ear to all entreaties ; 
he refused our money, and at last we were fain 
to give up the point in despair. Of a surety, me- 
thought, there seems somewhat of that bigoted ob- 
stinacy, which locked up the breasts of the people 
of Montpellier in the days of Dr. Yoims;, still 
visible in their descendants. 

Early the next day we once more sought the 
gardens. The old janitor admitted us, and we 
wandered awhile about the extensive grounds, 
without discovering the object of our search. At 
length, in a sequestered niche, where the superin- 



THE GRAVE OF NARCISSA. 207 

cumbent mound of earth was prevented from fall- 
ing in by a rude support of brick, I descried a 
tablet of greyish stone, upon which were carved 
these few and simple words : 

" Placandis Nareissae Manibus." 

Here then was the spot, where, in the bitter agony 
of grief, the poet, perchance, first conceived the 
idea of embalming that deep sorrow in undying 
verse. 

I felt a painful thrill creeping over me as I 
gazed upon the spot ; a crowd of associations pre- 
sented themselves to my mind's eye ; an aged, 
disconsolate father, alone and at midnight in the 
land of the stranger and the foe, committing to 
the cold grave the last hope of his declining years, 
an only daughter ; and how was this last sad of- 
fice rendered, and dust yielded again to dust? 
Alas ! there was no funeral retinue ; there were 
no weeping mourners ; friends there were not, to 
sympathize and console. No; the few, sacred 
moments, that were employed in veiling for ever 
from the gaze of that bereaved parent the inani- 
mate form of her he had so loved, were rendered 
yet more replete with anguish, from the fear, that, 
with sacrilegious step, some stern intruder might 
frustrate the holy enterprise, and forbid (what ag- 
ony in the thought !) the rites of decent sepulture. 

Upon leaving Montpellier, our route conducted 
us to Cette, six or seven miles distant from that 
city, of which it may be considered the port. 
Cette is a town of considerable importance, pos- 
sessing an extensive foreign trade. It is situated 



208 THE CANAL DE LANGUEDOC. 

on the Mediterranean, or rather between Lake 
Thau and the Mediterranean, having a free com- 
munication with that sea. The town possesses a 
safe and commodious harbour, commanded by the 
guns of two strong fortresses. 

Our stay here was protracted no longer than 
was necessary, and we took passage, as soon as 
opportunity offered, on board the steam-boat that 
traverses Lake Thau, thus completing the long 
line of inland navigation between Bordeaux and 
the Mediterranean. 

Upon arriving at the point where the waters of 
the canal form a junction with those of the Lake, 
we quitted the steam-boat, and embarked on board 
one of the fine packets that ply along this su- 
perb canal. The Canal du Midi or Languedoc, 
as it is indiscriminately termed, is a work which 
would reflect honor upon any nation or govern- 
ment. It extends about one hundred and fifty 
miles, connecting the waters of the Garonne with 
those of the Mediterranean. At the surface it is 
sixty-four feet in width ; the canal is provided 
with one hundred and fourteen locks, it is spanned 
by nearly a hundred road bridges, and more than 
fifty aqueduct ones. The boats that float on its 
bosom are eighty-five feet in length, by eighteen 
in breadth, drawing five feet of water, and of one 
hundred tons' burden. The canal traverses, through- 
out their whole extent, the smiling domains of 
Languedoc, that fairest portion of la belle France. 
The cultivated sweep of wide-spread champaign, 
is redolent of the sweets beneficent Nature has 



MODE OF TRAVELLING UPON THE CANAL. 209 

showered upon her favored clime ; the waving grain 
and joyous vine bespeak, too, the honest industry 
of man ; and the swelling heart of the spectator, 
bathed in soft emotions, sympathizes with the tran- 
quillizing beauty of the scene. 

Nor are there wanting along the route instances 
of romantic beauty and grandeur of scenery. At 
Bezieres, the canal passes through the base of a 
mountain, by a tunnel seven hundred and twenty 
feet in length, and lined throughout with freestone. 
To me there was a something of novel, and even 
sublime, in this dark, silent, subterraneous mode 
of voyaging through the bowels of the solid earth. 
The preparations for night on board these canal 
boats are not the same as with us. No luxury of 
bedding is there displayed ; each voyageur is pro- 
vided with a cushioned seat, from either side of 
which protrudes an arm, after the similitude of a 
stalle d'orchestre in a French theatre, and corre- 
sponding, to all intents and purposes, with that fre- 
quent and most comfortable piece of household 
furniture, the arm-chair. Here the traveller is 
obliged to content himself by wearing away the 
night as he best may. 

The rate of travelling upon the canal rather ex- 
ceeds four miles per hour, giving a period of about 
thirty-six hours for accomplishing the traverse be- 
tween Cette and Toulouse. At the expiration of 
this time we duly effected a landing at the Bureau 
des Paquebots, in the city of Toulouse. 

There is but little in this city to protract the 
traveller's stay. Immediately upon our arrival, we 
27 



210 TOULOUSE. 

secured the services of a valet de place, and under 
his auspices commenced a survey of the place. 

Toulouse stands on the right bank of the Ga- 
ronne, which is here broad and navigable. A noble 
bridge, nearly nine hundred feet in length and sev- 
enty in breadth, is reared above its rapid waters. 
Not far from the bridge, and hard by the banks of 
the river, is a lofty tower, erected for the purpose 
of distributing the waters of the Garonne through 
the city. The process by which this object is 
accomplished is novel and ingenious, but rather 
too complicated in its nature to admit of a satis- 
factory explanation from one unlearned in the sci- 
ence of Hydraulics. 

The other public objects, that will repay the 
stranger for the visiting, are the Town House, a 
handsome edifice, possessing a beautifully orna- 
mented facade ; the Cathedral, venerable from its 
remote antiquity ; and a few of the other churches, 
whose names have escaped my memory. 

Toulouse possesses also its quota of antiquities ; 
the remains of a Roman Amphitheatre and Aqueduct 
are there yet visible. In a spacious quadrangular 
area, serving as a depository for valuable antiques, 
the visiter is shown many ancient Roman statues. 
These, though for the most part in an imperfect 
and mutilated state, display nevertheless much of 
that harmony of outline and symmetrical beauty 
of proportion, that attest the perfection of the art 
during the palmy days of Imperial Rome. 

In the eye of the historical reader, Toulouse will 
ever possess an interest from the siege and the 



JOURNEY TO BORDEAUX. 21 i 

battle of which it was the theatre during the san- 
guinary period of the Peninsular campaigns. Traces 
of that severe conflict around the walls of the de- 
voted city are yet visible. 

With respect to the places of amusement in 
this city, the theatre appeared to me the only one 
worthy of particular notice. It is a handsome, 
well-arranged salle, and capable of containing a 
large concourse of spectators. As is ever the case 
in the considerable towns of France, it is provided 
with an efficient corps, either for opera, vaudeville, 
or the higher walks of the drama. I repaired 
thither in company with my friend, on the evening 
of our arrival. The piece was Auber's chef-d'ceu- 
vre, " Fra Diavolo," and I was much gratified by its 
excellent representation. The charming music of 
the opera was given with inspiring effect. 

Being desirous of reaching Bordeaux with all 
practicable speed, we made but brief stay at Tou- 
louse. Less than two days had flown by, when 
we were again rolling over the dusty roads. The 
distance between Toulouse and Bordeaux is about 
one hundred and sixty miles ; the diligence trav- 
els it at the rate of four miles and a half per hour, 
and completes the journey in about thirty-six 
hours ; there is nothing particularly interesting upon 
the route. After tumbling about in the coach for 
two nights and a day, we joyfully hailed the first 
vision of Bordeaux. Arrived, we secured lodgings 
at the Hotel du Nord, an establishment where are 
happily consulted the comfort and convenience of 
the traveller. 



212 BORDEAUX. 

Bordeaux is the fourth city in the kingdom in 
magnitude and importance, and, excluding the cap- 
ital, more conspicuous than any other by the splen- 
dor of its public and private edifices. It is situated 
about forty miles from the sea on the west bank 
of the Garonne ; its harbour is large and commo- 
dious, and, from the circumstance of the Garonne's 
being very materially affected by the tides as far 
up as the city, it is accessible to vessels of consid- 
erable burden. 

Bordeaux, as surveyed from the eastern bank of 
the river, presents the appearance of a semicircle* 
stretching far along the curving banks of the stream. 
To judge from the appearance it there presents, 
you would suppose the city double its actual size ; 
but, upon entering the town, you find it deficient 
in width. The entire population is not supposed to 
exceed one hundred thousand. The old town is a 
succession of narrow streets and miserable hovels, 
but the better and larger portion of the city is 
adorned with spacious avenues, and lofty, elegant 
edifices. 

Among the finer parts of the city must be men- 
tioned the Place Royale, where stands a handsome 
equestrian statue of the fifteenth Louis. The 
Quartier du Chapeau Rouge, however, is decidedly 
the most beautiful section of Bordeaux. The edi- 
fices here are built, for the most part, in a style 
of princely grandeur. In this quartier stands also 
the magnificent theatre, more imposing, in its ex- 
ternal appearance than any building erected for 
similar purposes in the realm, Paris not excepted. 



THE THEATRE. 213 

This noble structure stands isolated in the centre 
of a square, a situation which displays its propor- 
tions to the greatest advantage. It occupies a 
space of three hundred and six feet in length, by 
one hundred and sixty-five in breadth. The prin- 
cipal front faces you, as you pass along the Quartier 
du Chapeau Rouge towards the river. This front 
is adorned with a classic portico of large Corin- 
thian columns, stretching along its whole extent. 
Passing these, the vestibule first attracts the at- 
tention, and from that you enter the body of the 
house. The salle is not so spacious as one would 
imagine from the appearance without. It is ar- 
ranged, however, in a style of taste and elegance 
I have never seen surpassed ; indeed, the theatre 
may be denominated a perfect bijou. The per- 
formances, upon the first evening I visited it, 
were Mayerbeer's untiring opera of Robert le 
Diable, with the beautiful ballet of La Somnam- 
bule. The music and dancing throughout were 
executed in a manner that seemed to me in perfect 
consonance with the airy beauty of this Temple 
of the Muses, and with the acknowledged good 
taste of the city that erected it. Besides the 
salle de spectacles, within the walls of the theatre 
are contained an extensive and elegant concert- 
room, and several saloons for refreshment and the 
promenade. It is estimated, that the entire ex- 
pense attending the building of this splendid 
edifice exceeded the enormous sum of six million 
five hundred thousand francs. 

There are also in Bordeaux many other public 



214 BORDEAUX. 

works, which, by their magnificence, tend to show 
the generous spirit of the people on all subjects 
connected with the general improvement and beau- 
ty of the city. 

The new Corn Mill, which is put in operation 
by the influx and ebb of the tides, is one of the 
most remarkable features of the city. It is pro- 
vided with several canals ; through the largest, 
which is constructed in the most durable manner, 
the water flows in, and puts the wheels of the mill 
in motion. It thence passes through the remaining 
conduits to a large reservoir from whence, upon the 
tide's ebb, it returns, and thus, by an ingenious 
contrivance, aids the necessities of man both in its 
rise and flow. 

Bordeaux possesses a Cathedral and many ven- 
erable churches. In one of these, the church of 
the monks of St. Bernard, is the tomb of the 
celebrated Philosopher and Wit, — Montaigne. 

The Aristocracy of the city is chiefly composed 
of its rich merchants and bankers, who display, in 
their habitations and mode of living, a luxury and 
elegance befitting their wealth and station. 

The greatest source of wealth to the inhabitants 
springs from the culture of the grape. The quan- 
tity of wine yearly produced in the campagne about 
Bordeaux is said to be two hundred thousand tuns, 
of which the moiety may be exported, and the resi- 
due consumed in the kingdom. When we consider 
the cheapness which attends the manufacture of the 
wine upon the spot, and the large sums demanded 
in the selling, we shall cease to wonder at the 



BORDEAUX COMPARED WITH MARSEILLES. 215 

immense fortunes so rapidly accumulated by the 
principal merchants of Bordeaux. 

In drawing a comparison between this city and 
another, not differing from it materially in extent 
or population, — Marseilles, are struck with certain 
very marked dissimilarities. The easy freedom 
characteristic of the Marseillais, seems foreign 
to the more patrician habitant of Bordeaux. Sel- 
dom does the visiter in the latter city either in 
cafe or theatre encounter instances of the bruyante 
and noisy gayety that prevails in the similar resorts 
at Marseilles. Bordeaux has not forgotten, that she 
was once the home of a splendid court, and the 
dignity of a capital still clings around her. In fine, 
as respects the two cities, there may be a difference, 
similar to that perceptible between the arrogance 
of the rich parvenu, who exults in the new-fangled 
honors his gold has procured him, and the dignified 
bearing of the hereditary noble, upon whose front 
birth and education have set the seal of greatness. 

The distance from Bordeaux to Paris is nearly four 
hundred miles, in a northeasterly direction. In 
passing over this long interval by diligence, you sub- 
ject yourself to four or five tedious days upon the 
route. The better way is to travel it in the Malle 
Poste. By this conveyance, you annihilate the dis- 
tance in about forty-two hours. The French Malle 
Poste moves with a velocity more than double that 
marking the average speed of continental travelling. 
The traveller who books himself for this rapid vehi- 
cle, must take good heed to be ever ready at his post. 
There is not a moment's unnecessary delay on the 



216 TRAVELLING BY THE MALLE POSTE. 

route ; but little time, and that at long intervals, 
is allowed for refreshing. At each relay, the pro- 
cess of changing is most expeditious. The fatigued 
and panting animals, that have whirled you over 
the course with such rapidity, are led off, and in a 
moment fresh ones are substituted in their places, 
attached to the vehicle, and you are again en route. 
Onward you roll night and day unceasingly, until 
the journey's end is attained. 

I confess myself partial to this mode of journey- 
ing, even though it afford the tourist but small 
opportunity for analyzing the objects of interest 
that may chance on his path. To me, travelling 
is never pleasant for travelling's sake, but endur- 
able as a means by which a desirable end can 
alone be attained. As a natural corollary, there- 
fore, the swifter the better; — yet is there an in- 
finitely more pleasing excitement in glancing over 
the smooth, well-beaten road, resounding under the 
clattering hoof of the spirited steed than, despite 
its superior velocity, in rumbling along dull rails 
of metal, urged by the expansive power of hissing 
steam. 

The traveller on the route from Bordeaux to 
Paris will have occasion to pass through several 
important towns, around which cling the strong 
associations of historical interest. At Poictiers the 
Poste allows you a moment's breathing-time to 
look about you or refresh. Here is the spot so 
marked in the annals of England's military renown. 
It was in the immediate vicinity of this city, about 
the middle of the fourteenth century, that King 



TOURS. 217 

John of France, with four times the numerical 
force, yielded to the victorious arms of the heroic 
Black Prince. The town of Poictiers is irregularly 
built, and threaded by narrow, crooked streets. 
Apart from historical associations, it can present, hut 
little to interest. Its population is said to exceed 
twenty thousand souls. 

Tours, capital of the department of the Indre and 
Loire, is a handsome and populous town. It is 
situated on the banks of the Loire, a little above 
the point where this noble stream receives the 
tributary waters of the Cher. The principal street 
in Tours is the Rue Rot/ale, extending the entire 
length of the city, and displaying on either side 
a uniform series of lofty and elegant edifices. A 
magnificent bridge over the Loire, continues the 
long line of this splendid avenue. The bridge is 
a superb structure more than thirteen hundred feet 
in length by fifty in breadth. It spans the rapid 
stream with fourteen wide and beautiful arches. 
Not far from this bridge commences the great prom- 
enade, which is more than a mile in extent. In 
addition to what has been already mentioned, Tours 
can boast a fine Cathedral, built in the Gothic style 
of architecture, an Hotel de Ville, a College, and a 
well-furnished Museum. The population of the 
city is estimated at about twenty-two thousand. 

Upon leaving Tours, the route conducts along 
the banks of the broad and majestic Loire. The 
quay, that bounds its swelling waters, extending 
from Argennes to Tours, is one of the grandest 
public works in France. It is raised to about 
28 



218 THE LOIRE. 

twenty-five feet above the level of the original 
bank, and is of sufficient width to receive three 
carriages abreast. Before the construction of this 
extensive barrier, the country was exposed to inun- 
dations over a great extent of territory. 

The Loire is the largest of the rivers of France, 
properly so called. It has been happily termed the 
Euphrates of that kingdom. This rapid and noble 
stream describes a course of more than five hundred 
miles from its source in the mountains of Cevennes 
to its embouchure, where the Atlantic receives its 
auxiliary waters below the city of Nantes, in Bre- 
tagne. The river is generally broad and rapid, 
and in parts so shallow, as to render it extremely 
difficult of navigation. 

The route by its bank, as I have before said, is 
truly delightful. The pleased eye wanders from 
the broad bosom of the glancing stream to the 
verdure and fertility beyond, that spring from its 
genial waves. Nature, in happy mood, smiles in 
the wide landscape, and even the gorgeous Sun 
seems to linger over the fair scene as he slowly 
sinks to his western repose, bathing a world in the 
last transient yet glorious flood of splendor. 

Travelling onward we come to the city of Blois, 
famous for having once been a residence of the 
kings of France. This city possesses an ancient 
castle and other public buildings of note. It is 
situated about ninety miles from the capital, and 
contains a population of thirteen thousand inhabit- 
ants. The French language is said to be spoken 
here, and likewise at Tours, with peculiar purity 
and correctness. 



ARRIVAL AT PARIS. 219 

About fifty miles from Blois, favorably situated 
on the Loire, stands the populous city of Orleans. 
History has early invested this place with impor- 
tance. In the wars of the Middle Ages between 
England and France, Orleans played a conspicuous 
part. It was then that the dauntless Pucelle, 
inspired with patriotic frenzy', put herself at the 
head of her nation's armies, and, by her daring 
valor, heightened by the superstition of the times, 
struck terror into the assailants. There is yet 
standing, in one of the squares, a statue of bronze 
erected to her memory. Orleans has likewise the 
honor of giving its name to the eldest son of France 
and heir-apparent to the throne. 

The ready steeds are again on the route, and at 
length the eye is gladdened by a yet distant view 
of that splendid Capital, whose innumerable com- 
forts and facilities a temporary absence has prepar- 
ed the traveller fully to appreciate. Time flies ; 
you pass the massive barrier, and thunder with 
rapid pace along the mazy streets. Arrived at the 
Bureau des Postes, you alight and stand once again 
in the heart of Paris. 

As soon as myself and travelling gear were fairly 
clear of the vehicle, I lost no time in transporting 
them, with all convenient speed, to my old comfort- 
able quarters at the Hotel des Princes, in the Rue 
Richelieu, and soon all remembrance of travel and 
fatigue was dispelled by the balmy breath of sleep. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Paris. — Notre Dame. — Churches. — The Pantheon. — Vault and 
Tombs. — Tomb of Lannes. — Eclio. — View from the Pantheon. — 
Its Dome and Painting in Fresco. — Palaces. — The Tuileries. — 
Garden of the Tuileries. — Splendid View. — Palais Bourbon. — 
The Louvre. — Gallery of Paintings. — Modern French Artists. — 
Remarks on Painting. 

In the remarks I have to offer respecting this 
celebrated city, a cursory notice of the public 
buildings, distinguished whether for their elegance 
or antiquity, must first be permitted me ; and we 
will commence with the churches. 

Of these, the most ancient and remarkable one is 
the well-known Cathedral of Notre Dame. This 
massive pile dates from remote antiquity, — more 
than eight centuries have rolled over its venerable 
walls. As a specimen of Gothic architecture it 
may be looked upon as unrivalled by any in the 
kingdom. The front of the church, which is one 
hundred and twenty feet in width, is remarkable, 
alike for the noble and imposing character of its 
masonry and proportions, as well as the elaborate 
carving and richness of ornament, which serve to 
relieve that stern and stately majesty, which is its 
most prominent characteristic. 

The towers of Notre Dame are forty feet square 
and more than two hundred in height ; from their 
summit is commanded a splendid view of Paris and 
the surrounding country. A staircase of nearly 



CATHEDRAL OF NOTRE DAME. 221 

four hundred steps conducts you to the top. These 
elevated towers, rising in the very heart of the city, 
and opening to the eye on every side a beautiful 
and extended prospect, were formerly thronged 
with visiters; but the fact of an individual's having 
some years since committed suicide by precipitating 
himself from the dizzy height, has induced the 
authorities to permit no party, consisting of more 
than three or four, to ascend at the same time. 

Of the numerous bells, that once rang their 
loud peals through the towers of Notre Dame, but 
one remains, which was placed in the situation it 
now occupies during the reign of Louis Quatorze, 
towards the close of the seventeenth century. It 
bears the name of Emanuel Louise Therese. This 
huge bell is eight feet in height by the same num- 
ber in diameter, and is said to weigh ninety-six 
thousand pounds. Its thickness is eight inches, 
and the strength of sixteen men is barely adequate 
to ring it. 

Viewed from without, the general appearance of 
Notre Dame is in the highest degree striking and 
impressive. The colossal and towering proportions 
of the edifice, heightened in effect by its massive and 
frowning architecture, impress the beholder with 
an involuntary feeling of awe. The interior of the 
church is in the form of a Latin cross. Through- 
out its whole wide extent there reigns a simple 
and unadorned grandeur, well in unison with 
the sacred nature of the edifice. Its dimensions, 
within the walls, are about four hundred feet in 
length by one hundred and forty in breadth, and 



222 paris. 

one hundred in height. Extending the entire 
length of the fabric, is a succession of Gothic 
arches, supported by numerous plain and fluted 
columns, so disposed, that, on entering at the 
west door of the church, the visiter may obtain an 
entire and unobstructed view of the whole. 

The situation of Notre Dame is not, perhaps, 
such as the modern tourist might deem most favor- 
able for the display of its majestic and stately pro- 
portions; yet, in the eye of one, who would wish 
to feel in their full force those impressions which 
so vast an edifice cannot fail to create, even the 
locale is not without its advantages. The time- 
scathed and blackened edifices in its immediate 
vicinity, the traces of age everywhere visible, seem 
to harmonize happily with the almost traditional 
antiquity of a pile, around which are woven the 
sacred associations of centuries. 

The quartier where this famed cathedral rears its 
lofty towers is the most ancient section of Paris, and 
the nucleus, around which, in process of years, the 
immense substance of the modern capital has collect- 
ed. At present, this quarter of the city (the old 
Lutetia of the Romans) bears the name of " Cite." 
It is an island, formed by the branches of the 
Seine, and of but comparatively small extent. 

Among the other ancient places of public wor- 
ship in Paris, stand conspicuous the churches of St. 
Sulpice, St. Eustache, and St. Roch. The first 
of these claims the preeminence, as well from its 
great size and majestic proportions, as the interior 
designs and valuable paintings that adorn it. 



THE PANTHEON. 223 

From the ancient eglise, turn we to the more 
modern ; and the magnificent Pantheon first attracts 
the eye. This noble church, commenced during 
the reign of the fifteenth Louis, was but a few 
years since fully completed. 

The portico is constructed after the manner of 
that celebrated church at Rome, from which this 
derives its name. It consists of a splendid per- 
istyle of massive Corinthian columns, fifty-eight 
feet in height, and more than five in diameter. 
Upon the frieze of the portico may be read the 
following inscription, illustrative of the purpose to 
which this edifice is partly devoted : 

" Aux Grands Hommes la Patrie Reconnoissante." 

The interior of the church is in the form of a 
Greek cross. About the centre of the area, on 
either side of the principal nave, are inscriptions in 
letters of gold, eulogizing those brave citizens who 
fell in the revolution of 1830. 

The church is a model of majestic simplicity, 
and entirely free from the gilded trumpery that 
usually disfigures the Romish places of worship. 
After satisfying your curiosity above, you descend 
to the silent vault of the building. Here, but a few 
feet apart, are the tombs of Voltaire and Rousseau. 
From that of the former protrudes a hand grasping 
a flaming torch, signifying that the spirit of the 
great author yet illumes the Universe. Further 
on, where the gloomy aisle excludes the light of 
day, are deposited the remains of Napoleon's fa- 
vorite soldier, the intrepid Lannes. In this part 



224 paris. 

of the church there is a remarkable echo. Elevate 
the voice to a shout, and a swelling sea of sound 
rebounds from the sharp and salient angles, and 
rolls with long and stunning reverberation amid the 
winding and labyrinthine passages. 

Torch in hand, the guide conducts you along the 
subterranean way, and explains the history of all. 
Upon emerging from these dark, damp chambers, 
the visiter will not fail to ascend the lengthened 
stairway that conducts to the spacious dome, thus 
completing a survey of the edifice. 

The situation of the Pantheon is conspicuous 
and commanding. It occupies the brow of a rising 
ground, which is surmounted by a long flight of 
steps, conducting to the base of the church. Un- 
dented by the alloying contact of inferior piles, it 
stands towering aloft in its isolated grandeur. 
From the top of this edifice, the highest point in 
the city of Paris, the visiter may enjoy a most 
delightful prospect. You gaze upon the vast Cap- 
ital, that lies in Titan-like repose at your feet. 
From its broad bosom rise the dome, the turret, 
and the spire. The wide wilderness of stone is 
relieved at intervals by the green and waving 
foliage of the gardens of the Tuileries, the Luxem- 
bourg, the Jardiu des Plantes and Pere la Chaise. 
Surmounted by his statue whose victories it re- 
cords, is seen the stately shaft of bronze rising 
from the midst of its beautiful square. But the 
City, — it is not its material features alone, — its 
stone or marble, upon which the fixed eye dilates. 
No; you are gazing upon that theatre, where has 



DOME OF THE PANTHEON. 225 

been played the most wondrous drama modern 
Europe has beheld. The stirring scenes of the 
Revolution, the warlike excitement of that after 
period when the armies of France waved her 
triumphant standard over fallen fortress and con- 
quered capital, rise again before you, and that, too, 
- — the disastrous flood of war, rolling back from the 
far regions of the freezing North, covering with 
dark desolation the once fair domain and smiling 
home, — until its blood-red wave, threatening to 
efface each vestige of the proud city, swept over 
a dynasty the world had trembled at. 

The principal beauty of the Pantheon consists in 
its magnificent dome, which is elevated nearly 
three hundred feet above the floor of the church. 
It is surrounded by thirty-two columns, of the Co- 
rinthian order, which give it the appearance of a 
circular temple. Above these rises a cupola, which 
is surmounted by a lantern. The whole is termn 
nated by a ball and cross of bronze gilt. 

The painting of the dome, by Gros, is looked 
upon as this artist's chef-cVceuvre. It is, indeed, a 
splendid composition, and covers a surface com- 
prising more than three thousand square feet. The 
subject of the work is drawn both from the celestial 
and the terrestrial. The latter consists of four 
groups, connected by appropriate emblems, repre- 
senting such monarchs of France, as have most 
contributed to exert a permanent influence upon 
the country. The first is Clovis, who, moved by 
the persuasive eloquence of his queen, Clotilda, 
early embraced the Christian faith. The next 
29 



226 paris. 

group consists of the gorgeous Charlemagne and 
his Queen. The third is St. Louis and his 
consort. The fourth group, the artist (in compli- 
ment to the then reigning monarch) has made to 
consist of Louis the Eighteenth, and that royal lady 
whom Napoleon has styled the only man among 
the Bourbons, the Duchesse d'Angouleme. The 
king is represented as protecting, with his sceptre, 
the infant Duke of Bordeaux. Descending toward 
them, partially veiled in circumambient clouds, is 
seen the Patron Saint of Paris, St. Genevieve, to 
whom the royal personages composing the group are 
rendering homage. Casting your eye above, you 
behold enthroned amid the celestial regions Louis 
the Sixteenth, with Marie Antoinette, his queen, 
Louis the Seventeenth, his son, and Mad. Elisabeth. 
The highest point in the piece, conspicuous by a 
dazzling gleam of light emanating from it, indicates 
the unapproachable presence of the Deity. 

The Palaces must next in order claim our atten- 
tion. Of these, we will first glance at the present 
royal residence, — the Chateau of the Tuileries. 
This palace, though by no means the most elegant 
in Paris, is yet a noble and imposing edifice. Its 
darkened walls and obsolete architecture bear the 
impress of antiquity. The Chateau, with its pavil- 
ions, is about one thousand feet in length, stretch- 
ing across the garden from the Rue Rivoli to the 
Quai. 

The Garden of the Tuileries, annexed to the 
palace, is a prominent feature of the metropolis. 
This large and beautiful area forms a favorite 



GARDEN OF THE TUILERIES. 227 

promenade for the beau mon&e during the fine 
season ; numerous and well-beaten paths traverse 
the grounds, along which pours the tide of well- 
dressed pedestrians, while the grassy plots, decked 
with flowers, and the waving foliage of the tall 
trees, bestow an air of rural beauty, that delights 
the eye. The frequent statue and the murmuring 
fount are there, to enhance the beauty of the scene. 
Let us commence near the palace, and, choosing 
the middle path, slowly promenade the length of 
the garden. Groups of statuary are profusely 
scattered over this portion of the area. Passing 
these, and the fountain whose lofty jet diffuses 
an agreeable freshness through the air, you enter 
the broad walk, bounded on either side by stately 
trees. The absence of brush and underwood per- 
mits the eye free range through this fair extent of 
grove ; at intervals, the rude seat offers the visiter 
an immunity from the sun's meridian rays, and here 
and there the marble group embodies subjects in 
unison with the sylvan character of the scene. 
Passing onward, you come to an ample reservoir, 
where proudly sails the majestic swan. At length, 
you emerge by the massive portal, on either side 
of which frowns a couchant lion. The Place de la 
Revolution, or Louis Seize, now extends before 
you ; — a few paces more, and your steps are press- 
ing the spot, where was poured forth the blood of a 
Monarch, to appease the fell demon of Revolution. 
Here opens upon you the most magnificent view 
in Paris, — a view, I may venture to affirm, which 
the other capitals of Europe can display nothing to 



228 paris. 

equal. Let us examine it a passing moment in 
detail. Turn jour eyes upon the gardens you have 
just quitted. There the view is terminated by the 
long range of the Tuileries. On your right hand, 
compressed by massive quays, the Seine is rolling his 
turbid wave, spanned at this point by the noble 
bridge de la Concorde, the sides of which are sur- 
mounted by colossal figures, bearing the most illus- 
trious names of France. Beyond the stream is seen 
the Palais Bourbon, a structure considered by many 
as second in beauty to none the Capital can boast. 
The front of this palace is adorned by twelve beau- 
tiful Corinthian columns. During the reign of 
Napoleon it was made use of by his legislative 
councils, and at present the Chamber of Deputies 
hold their meetings within its walls. On the left 
hand runs the Rue Rivoli, with its stately succes- 
sion of private and public edifices. At the extrem- 
ity of a street, opening upon this avenue in direct 
line with the position you occupy, is seen the beau- 
tiful and classic front oi La Madeleine, with the 
pure and gleaming white of its stately columns. 
Reverse your position, and the eye embraces the 
wide domain of the Champs Elysces, the vast 
pleasure-ground of Paris, bisected by a broad, 
straight avenue, and terminated to the vision by 
the glorious effort of a Nation's power, worthy its 
Imperial designer, the triumphal Arc de VEtoile. 

Surveyed from a spot like the one my pen would 
fain portray, the city of Paris appears to the facile 
imagination clothed in that dazzling garb of gran- 
deur with which early reading has invested mag- 



PALACE OF THE LOUVRE. 229 

nificent, eternal Rome, and those, yet more dimly 
visible, through the mists tradition has thrown over 
time, — the giant cities of the far-off Orient. 

The Palace of the Louvre is yet older than that 
of the Tuileries ; portions of the edifice are the 
work of centuries long past. But the most beau- 
tiful part of that royal residence was completed dur- 
ing the splendid reign of Louis the Fourteenth, and 
may be denominated a perfect model of chaste and 
elegant architecture. So just and symmetrical 
throughout are the proportions of the edifice, that 
the eye at first glance is deceived with regard to 
its actual dimensions. This is particularly true of 
the famous quadrangular area of the Louvre, which 
is several hundred feet square. Let the visiter, 
after passing through the noble archway that opens 
into this court, continue his steps to the centre of 
the area, and there pause and look around him. 
That majestic simplicity, which reigns throughout 
the whole, and is the very perfection of art, riv- 
ets and enchants, while the eye revels in wonder 
and delight over the elaborate finish and exquisite 
harmony, that mark even the minutest details. A 
large section of this palace bears the name of 
Musee Royale, and serves as a depository for the 
most valuable paintings and statuary the Capital 
can boast. 

The gallery of Paintings in the Louvre is one- 
fourth of a mile in length, and the whole immense 
extent glows w T ith the pictured canvass. It is 
needless to say, that, at first view, it is most truly 
imposing. So colossal appeared to me the scale, 



230 PARIS. 

which my mind could measure by no intermediate 
degrees of comparison, that I hesitated an instant 
to give credence to the bewildered sense. 

During the long wars of Napoleon, the Museum 
of the Louvre was enriched by numerous chefs- 
d'oeuvre, both in painting and sculpture, transferred 
from the Halls of the vanquished to grace the 
Capital of the conqueror ; the inimitable produc- 
tions of RafTaelle, Domenichino, and their great 
contemporaries, decorated the walls of the Louvre. 
Within these walls, too, stood the statue that " en- 
chants the world," and that, the noblest offspring 
of the Grecian chisel, 

" The Lord of the Unerring Bow, 
The God of Life and Poesy and Light." 

After the restoration of the Bourbon family, 
these chefs-d'oeuvre returned to their respective 
owners ; but yet, though stripped of its rarest gems, 
is this famous gallery most rich and beautiful. 
The paintings are tastefully arranged, according to 
the various schools from which they emanate, 
French, Italian, or Flemish ; and the productions 
of each celebrated artist are distinctly classed, in 
such manner as to avoid confusion. 

The works of modern French artists will afford 
but little pleasure to one familiar with the exquisite 
finish, harmony, and truth of the Italian school. 
The great difficulty with them is, that they are not 
true to nature. Their pictures, indeed, display all 
that vivid glare of coloring, which may for a while 
arrest the eye ; but you look in vain for the sub- 
lime beauty of expression, the chaste and classic dis- 



REMARKS ON PAINTING. 231 

position of figures, conjoined with an epic force and 
harmony of composition, — a union that can alone 
give immortality to the canvass. But after all, the 
fault is not so much that of the artist as of the age 
in which he lives. 

Painting was brought to perfection by the great 
Italian masters of the sixteenth century. The hand 
that traced the glorious Transfiguration,* raised the 
art to its acme, and left to succeeding ages but the 
easy task of admiration. In the progress of cen- 
turies, the taste of mankind becomes revolutionized. 
The onward march of Luxury corrupts the very 
constitution of society ; and that which once pleased 
by its noble simplicity and faithful adherence to 
truth, would fall now tasteless and insipid upon the 
moral palate, of which, artificial and highly seasoned 
food has impaired the tone. Were an artist now to 
follow in the path which a Raffaelle, a Titian, a 
Guido, have rendered glorious, the attempt, with 
whatever talent to sanction it, would undoubtedly 
fail of success. Some new path must therefore be 
opened, and, when that ceases to invite, another 
and another. But these deviations from the legiti- 
mate track seldom survive their authors, and never 
will the great truth-teller, Time, lend the weight 
of his testimony to ratify their proud claims with 
posterity. 

* Raffaelle's chef-d'ceuire, which now graces the penetralia of the 
Vatican. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

Description of the Palais Royal. — Its magnificent Area and Prome- 
nades. — Passage d'Orleans. — Its splendid Appearance at Evening. 

— Glance at the principal Features of the Palais Royal. — Variety 
and Brilliancy of the Magasins and Cafes. — The Cafe des Aveugles. 
— Atmosphere of Gayety ahout the Palais Royal. — Its Effect upon 
the Feelings. — Principal Theatres of Paris. — French Opera House. 

— Principal Performers in Opera and Ballet. — Interior Arrange- 
ment of the Salle. — Prices of Admission. — The Royal Box. — Sa- 
loon of the Opera. 

Bidding adieu to the varied treasures of the 
Louvre, we will for a moment enter the precincts 
of the Palais Royal, an edifice, which, with its 
Various appurtenances, is certainly one of the most 
striking features of the miniature world of Paris. 
This extensive pile was commenced under the 
auspices of Richelieu for a royal residence, as 
its present appellation would import. In process 
of time it fell into the hands of the Orleans family, 
and contributed in a great degree to their princely 
revenue. 

While in the hands of Philippe, Duke of Orleans, 
surnamed Egalite, the Palais Royal was the very 
centre and hot-bed of Parisian dissipation and 
sensuality ; and thus it continued for a long series of 
years, until the character of the place was essential- 
ly changed, during the reign of Charles the Tenth. 
The entire edifice, forms a spacious, oblong 
square, the area of which serves as a place of 



THE PALAIS ROYAL AS IT NOW IS. 235 

promenade and amusement for the citizens. It is 
planted with rows of trees, under whose protecting 
foliage are ranged numerous benches, where of a 
pleasant morning the bourgeois repairs from his 
dejeuner, at the adjoining cafe, to read the news of 
the day, or puff away all care in smoke. Here, 
too, at a later hour, may be found the young moth- 
er or nurse, fondly gazing on the smiling child, as 
he trundles the circling hoop, or lightly skips the 
flying cord. 

The Palais Royal is indeed the legitimate do- 
main of pleasure and gayety, and all appears ex- 
cluded that ministers not thereunto. The appella- 
tion of Royal Palace seems to be continued by 
custom and sufferance, for such in fact has this 
edifice long ceased to be. It is at present tenanted 
by tradesmen, restaurateurs, jewellers, and artisans 
of every denomination, and produces from these 
various sources an enormous income to its princely 
proprietor. 

A more splendid collection of bijouterie and 
precious stones of all descriptions, than is here 
displayed, can be seen in no other quarter of Paris. 
Shops for vending these and other articles of mer- 
chandise occupy generally the first floor of the 
edifice ; above are restaurants, billiard-rooms, sa- 
lons de jeu, and cabinets de lecture. In fine, within 
the limits of the Palais Royal is to be found, in 
heterogeneous mixture, a plentiful sprinkling of the 
various elements that serve to make up the great 
city. 

The promenade that circumscribes the court is 
30 



234 paris. 

formed by a chain of arcades, separated by square 
pillars. Besides this there is another, much more 
beautiful, the Passage ^Orleans. This splendid 
arcade, to be seen in fullest advantage, must be 
visited during the hours of evening. Its appear- 
ance is then brilliant in the extreme ; the well-fur- 
nished magasins, with their costly stuffs shining 
through the vitreous expanse, the large and frequent 
mirrors, dispensing the vivid glare from their pol- 
ished surface at a thousand glittering angles, the 
superb Cafe d'Orleans, with its noble mirrors, its 
richly ornamented walls and ceiling ; all burning 
in the intense brightness of artificial day, — com- 
bine to form a coup deceit of well nigh magic 
splendor. The moving groups, ever passing to and 
fro, give life and motion to the scene. 

The description I have attempted of the Passage 
(P Orleans, confessedly the finest of all the arcades 
in and about the Palais Royal, may be applied 
with slight reservation to the entire area of this 
remarkable edifice. It is certain, that this charm- 
ant pays, as the Frenchman terms it, is painted in 
warmest coloring on the tablet of my mind, doubt- 
less in a great measure from the circumstance of 
its having been visited when I was new to the 
world of European splendor. It was a beautiful 
evening, and my first in Paris, when, in company 
with a more experienced friend, the bright scene 
broke, all unheralded, upon me. 

The Palais Royal seems to contain within its 
walls the very essence, or, if I may so speak, the 
active principle, of a large and populous city. Ev- 



SHOPS IN THE PALAIS ROYAL. 235 

ery thing that has a name seems here to possess a 
local habitation. The tasteful shops in every 
portion of this extraordinary edifice are as various 
as the wants, necessities, or luxuries, which bade 
them exist. There you pass the window of a 
fashionable artiste, and gaze through the ample 
pane upon the rich etoffes de sole and elegant 
cloths, that compose his stock. A step or two 
farther, and the eye is dazzled with a brilliant dis- 
play of jewelry, precious stones, watches, opera- 
glasses, &c. The next room is a spacious cafe, 
and the beautiful girl, who presides, claims your 
passing moment of admiration. The window of an 
adjoining magasin is garnished with pipes of every 
description, from the unassuming one en bois at 
ten sous, to the curiously carved ecume de mer, at 
as many napoleons. Enter the shop, and every 
thing is redolent of the fragrant weed. You will 
find nothing there, that subserves not the uses of 
tobacco. In return for your trois sous, the young 
woman behind the counter presents you with a 
cigar and match, and gracefully responds to your 
parting salutation. 

Extending your walk you observe, in close vi- 
cinity, the splendid saloons of Vefour and Very, 
(twin stars of gastronomic brightness), where the 
plump ortolan and delicate perdrix farci aux truffes 
unite their fascinations to rivet the attention of the 
gentle Epicure. 

Besides what I have already mentioned, there is 
in the Palais Royal an infinity of objects to interest 
and amuse the stranger. The learned professions, 



236 paris. 

too, are represented there, more especially the 
medical; and, to complete the picture, not much 
in the back-ground may be discerned the tender 
goddess of Love, with her hand-maiden, Lucina, 
and, however unworthy such " fayre companie," 
that retiring nymph, who presides over the humbler 
necessities of mankind. The Palais Royal has also 
its theatres ; attached to its walls are the theatres 
Francais and Palais Royal, and in its immediate 
vicinity stands the Vaudeville. 

For the lower classes, whose means will not 
permit them to indulge in expensive amusements, 
there are cafes, where such of the public as choose 
are nightly regaled with morceaux — not the most 
mellifluous — of instrumental music, and humble 
attempts at theatrical effect. The most remarkable 
of these is the Cafe des Aveugles. This resort is 
subterranean, and you descend to it by a flight of 
rude stone stairs, damp and ill-lighted, and well 
calculated withal to allow the incautious stranger 
an opportunity of breaking his neck (as I nearly 
did), while endeavouring only to gratify a laudable 
curiosity. Arrived there, you seat yourself at a 
table, and call for what you wish. It must be ob- 
served, that nothing is paid for admission, and that 
the only tax levied on the visiter is a small addi- 
tional sum upon the articles of refreshment. 

The orchestra of this establishment consists of a 
few blind musicians ; hence the name, Cafe des 
Aveugles. There is also a man fantastically cos- 
tumed, who may be regarded as the harlequin, and 
is held in great repute by the habitues of the cafe. 



THE CAFE DES AVEUGLES. 237 

Judging by his dress, or rather undress, you would 
suppose him in the role of a South American 
cazique ; ever and anon, after sundry prefatory 
brandishes, he smites with sonorous influence upon 
a capacious drum. Upon a sudden, with incon- 
ceivable agility he darts into an adjoining apart- 
ment, and, in a moment as suddenly reappearing, 
goes through a series of violent and ferocious ges- 
ticulations, that never fail of affording huge enter- 
tainment to all present. 

Should the visiter be willing to expend two or 
three francs extra on the occasion, he can command 
any tune within the compass of the musicians. 
We fancied the national air would lose nought of 
its inspiring effect, even at three thousand miles' 
distance from home, and accordingly signified an 
inclination that it should be played. The effort 
was beyond their humble talents ; but, to console 
us, they of their own accord struck up " God save 
the King," thinking no doubt that would do quite 
as well. 

Such is life in the Palais Royal, high and low. 
But it is next to impossible to do justice to 
the tableau. There is an atmosphere of gayety 
floating around this far-famed rendezvous, that 
the pen can give but a faint idea of, and which, 
indeed, one must breathe for a while, ere its 
wonderful properties can be fully understood. 
Were I to counsel a friend, who would fain seek 
in change of scene a substitute, even though tran- 
sient, for that happiness and tranquillity which have 
deserted him, — of all places in the world, for a 



238 paris. 

brief residence, I would recommend Paris, and of 
all places in Paris I would suggest the Palais Royal. 
From my own experience, 1 am convinced that 
no one, however desponding his temperament, can 
stand in the midst of that spacious area, while on his 
ear falls the grateful music of the murmuring fount, 
and his vision embraces each feature of the brilliant 
scene, with the vast tide of human beings pouring 
ever ceaseless onward in the various channels 
that pleasure or serious pursuits have marked out, 
— without escaping awhile from himself, and for- 
getting even the vulture that preys on his heart. 

The theatres in Paris are very numerous ; there 
are more than twenty open nightly. Of these, the 
most considerable are the French and Italian Opera 
Houses, the Theatre Francais, the Opera Comique, 
the Odeon, Gymnase, Vaudeville, Varietes, Porte 
St. Martin, and the Salle Ventadour. 

The French Opera House, otherwise called UAca- 
demie Royale de Musique, is the best appointed and 
most elegant theatre in Paris. The most celebrat- 
ed artists attached to this establishment are, in the 
opera, MM. Nourrit, Levasseur, Lafont, Derivis, 
Alexis, and Mesdames Cinti Damoreau, Dorus 
Gras, and Falcon. Those of acknowledged talent 
in the ballet are, first and peerless, Mademoiselle 
Taglioni, second, sed longo intervallo, Duvernay ; 
then come Noblet, Alexis, Pauline Leroux, Mon- 
tessu, Julie, Fitz James ; the sisters Essler possess 
a rank above the majority of these, — more espe- 
cially the brilliant Fanny, but they are not per- 
manently attached to the corps. 



INTERIOR OF THE ACADEMJE ROYALE. 239 

The theatre itself, though to appearance twice 
the size of our large Houses, will contain an audi- 
ence by no means proportionate to its apparent 
dimensions, and for this obvious reason ; the conve- 
nience and comfort of the spectator are consulted, 
and not, as with us and in the English theatres, 
the profits of the director alone. The Academie 
Royale, like most large French theatres, is divided 
into numerous compartments. There is the spacious 
parterre, and the stalles d'orchestre, that portion of 
the pit nearest the orchestra. There are the avant 
scenes, magnificent loges, corresponding in position 
with our proscenium boxes. There are the balcons 
at either extremity of the first or dress circle, (pre- 
mieres loges.) Below these, and on a line with 
the parterre, are the loges of the rez de chausse. 
At the superior part of the pit, is the amphitheatre ; 
in addition to these, there are the deuxieme, troi- 
sieme, and quatrieme loges. 

The prix oV entree is nearly as various as are the 
divisions of the House. For the parterre, which is 
very roomy and provided with excellent seats, it 
is three francs and ten sous ; for the stalles oVor- 
chestre, seven francs are paid at the door, or ten 
if you secure your billet at a previous hour. These 
stalles are all numbered, each one is provided with 
arms, also comfortably cushioned and velveted. By 
timely application you can secure any number not 
hired for the season, and, come at what hour of the 
representation you may, no trouble is experienced 
from occupants by the right of possession. For a 
billet in the balcon, which corresponds to our stage- 



240 PARIS. 

box, the same price is demanded as for a stalle 
d'orchestre ; the premieres loges are less expen- 
sive, and so on. 

In the centre of the first circle, distinguishable 
from the rest by its superior size and decoration, is 
the Royal Box. The King of the French and the 
ladies of the Royal Family but seldom attend the 
Opera ; although upon occasions, — such as the visit 
of Leopold to his father-in-law, I have seen Louis 
Philippe with the King of Belgium, his fair-haired 
consort, and her darker but not less beautiful 
sisters, Marie and Clementine, assembled in the 
Roval Box. The Dukes of Orleans and Nemours 
are much more constant visiters. 

The internal decorations of the House are pro- 
fuse and tasteful, although the prevailing color, 
crimson, while it adds to the gorgeousness of the 
general effect, detracts from that legire and airy 
beauty, that delights and enchains the eye. The 
saloon of the Opera House is long and spacious, 
and is used almost exclusively as a place of prome- 
nade. This apartment, if we except its profusion 
of mirrors, is by no means distinguished for splen- 
dor of decoration ; but it wears a very gay and 
elegant appearance when the fashion and beauty of 
the metropolis, multiplied into endless shapes by 
the reflecting glass, are lightly moving along its 
tesselated floor. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Academie Itoyale de Musique. — Leading Operas there repre- 
sented. — Robert le Diablo. — Excellence of Nourrit in that Char- 
acter. — Magnificent Scenic Effect. — Ballet-Opera of La Tenta- 
tion. — Scene representing L'Enfer. — La Juive. — Les Huguenots. 
— Nourrit. — Lafont. — Levasseur. — Madame Cinti Damoreau. — 
Madame Dorus Gras. — Mademoiselle Falcon. 

In concluding a description of the Academie 
Royale de Musique, I must observe that its appear- 
ance, from without, is by no means imposing. It 
is remarkable neither for the solidity of its ma- 
sonry, nor the symmetry of its architecture. The 
building was erected in much haste, and with but 
little regard to external beauty, after the abandon- 
ment of the Opera House in the Rue Richelieu, 
when the Due de Berri met his death from the 
assassin's dagger. 

The performances at this theatre take place 
three nights only during the week, leaving the 
remaining three for the Italian Opera, which never 
opens its doors on the same day with the former. 
Occasionally, at the Academie Royale, some repre- 
sentation extraordinaire is offered the public of a 
Sunday evening ; but the occurrence is rare. The 
most admired operas, performing at this theatre 
during my residence in Paris, were first and fore- 
most, Mayerbeer's Robert le Diable ; Auber's Gus- 
tave and Le Philtre, with Massaniello, by the same 

31 



242 paris. 

composer, Rossini's Guillaume Tell and Moise, 
with the ballet-operas of La Tentation and Le 
Dieu et la Bayadere. Two new operas were also 
brought out during that time in a style of great 
splendor, — La Juive, music by Halevy, and Les 
Huguenots, by Mayerbeer. 

Of all these operas, " Robert le Diable" is by far 
the most popular. Notwithstanding its frequent 
performance, — no less than two hundred times, 
— the announcement of the piece is ever sure to 
attract a crowded audience. The role of the Devil 
Prince is Nourrit's chef-d'oeuvre. The absorbing 
interest of the character is most happily sustained 
by this accomplished artist, until it terminates in 
the grand, overpowering crisis. The last scene is a 
splendid specimen of acting ; the long and terrible 
hesitation of Robert between the tears and en- 
treaties of his foster-sister and the frantic invoca- 
tion of his infernal sire, is depicted with a fidelity 
that harrows up the soul. Alice at length prevails, 
and Bertrand sinks to the regions of Lucifer, in the 
midst of the devouring element ; the curtain drops 
and closes the scene. 

After a representation of this piece, I have re- 
peatedly seen the whole parterre rise to a man, 
while the vast theatre rang with calls for Nour- 
rit. He appears and disappears, welcomed by 
the warm cheering of the enthusiastic spectators. 
When there is encouragement like this, based on 
sound discrimination, we are not surprised at 
meeting with superior excellence. 

In the third act of this opera, there is a grand 



ROBERT LE DIABLE. 243 

display of scenic effect, in unison with a tableau, 
which at first sight appears rather startling to the 
spectator. It is the scene where Robert, at the 
instigation of his father, repairs to the ruined 
monastery, to snatch from its inanimate possessor 
the magic branch. In the foreground of the pic- 
ture are seen the lifeless forms of the nuns, reposing 
on the marble's cold surface, while in the distance, 
deepened by the rare perspective, rise, massive and 
venerable, the moss-grown pillars, bathed in the 
cold, mystic flood of moonlight. 

The enchanter appears. At his dread summons, 
those gliding flames, emblems of the soul, career 
through the wide chamber, and in lambent play 
dance around each breathless figure. Of a sudden, 
the lids of the sarcophagi arise, and, slipping from 
their marble couches, leap lightly to the ground, 
those shrouded forms, now instinct with breath- 
ing life ; at the same moment are seen, emerging 
from the gloomy aisles, in slow procession, and 
arrayed in the drapery of the grave, a long and 
vapory retinue ; — it is the religious sisterhood, 
summoned from their slumber by the same dread 
words. At first, their movements are slow and 
solemn. By-and-by, the light becomes more pal- 
pable ; they recognise each other, and, casting 
aside their sepulchral raiment, they move to the 
soft and voluptuous music of the danse. 

Yielding to the graceful entreaty of her who 
leads the band, Robert advances and plucks the 
magic twig. In an instant disappear the effects of 
that incantation. Amid the horrid din that ensues, 



244 paris. 

the nuns are dispersed in the darkness, or sink in- 
animate to the ground, and the whole scene vanish- 
es away. 

I have thus dwelt, at some length, on the de- 
scription of scenes from this celebrated opera, both 
from the circumstance of its sterling merit, and 
wonderful success in the city where it was origi- 
nally produced ; and, also, because that, though 
frequently performed in this country, it is really 
but little known, — the representation, that we are 
here familiar with, displaying as it were but a mere 
skeleton of the noble composition. 

There is yet often represented, on the boards of 
the Academie Royale, a ballet-opera, which for a 
time divided the popular admiration with Robert. 
It is called La Tentation, and shows the various 
temptations with which the recluse, St. Anthony, 
was assailed, by the enemy of souls. It is a single 
scene only from this piece that I would particular- 
ize, — the one characterized as UEnfer, and such 
a picture as the harsh genius of a Dante might 
have chosen to image forth the horrors of his 
" Inferno." 

The Prince of Darkness is represented as hold- 
ing council, and all the legions of Hell are assem- 
bled to await the issue. The dire conclave press in 
horrid groups over the stage, and cover, as far as 
the eye can reach, the steps of a colossal staircase, 
that extends, apparently, into the far regions of 
Space. Ashtaroth consults with his dread troop on 
the most efficacious means of assailing the hitherto 
immaculate virtue of the Saint. At length, the plan 



A SCENE FROM « LA TENTATION." 246 

is agreed upon. A huge caldron is brought for- 
ward, into which are cast unholy and incongruous 
materials. The incantation proceeds, the charm 
takes effect, and anon from the seething vessel, in 
the first warm blush of existence, there springs forth 
a beauteous female. 

The music, the tempting fruit, the rose with its 
thorn, the radiant mirror, awake her to graceful 
consciousness of each new-born sense, and she 
testifies her happiness in the expressive and har- 
monious poetry of the danse. On her left breast is 
a black spot, in the form of a heart, — the brand of 
her unhallowed origin. Thus created and endow- 
ed, she is sent to earth to fulfil her mission. The 
unfortunate Saint, who upon trial betrays rather a 
strong admixture of the man in his composition, 
passes at length through all the vicissitudes of 
peril, hunger, and privation. Touched by the 
misfortunes of which she has been the cause, the 
infernal maiden finally relents, and bestows food 
upon the famished anchorite, whose necessities 
have driven him for sustenance and shelter to the 
princely mansion, where his persecutors, in the 
guise of knights, are feasting with the loud notes of 
revelry and music. The black stain now vanishes 
from the breast of the maiden, and her heart be- 
comes alive to the influence of the true faith. She 
is now persecuted in turn, and finally escapes the 
vengeful malice of the defeated fiends, by the time- 
ly intervention alone of a superior and celestial 
power. The beleaguered saint is freed from his 
toils, the good receives its due compensation, while 



246 paris. 

the ministers of evil, thwarted in their purpose, are 
dismissed to the realms of darkness. Thus con- 
cludes the piece. 

The scene representing UEnfer is the most 
extraordinary I have ever witnessed at the Acade- 
mie Royale, or elsewhere. The entire strength of 
the corps de ballet is exhibited in the hundreds of 
figures that half conceal the stupendous staircase, 
and throng the wide area below, leaving only space 
sufficient for the mazy evolutions of a diabolical 
danse, which, with its characteristic, music, is by no 
means the least prominent feature of the scene. 
The wide extent of stage, exaggerated to infinite 
distance by an admirable perspective, combines 
with the red glare of the lurid light, to impress on 
the mind, in its full extent of horror, the dark, 
unearthly nature of the scene. 

The opera of La Juive, by Halevy, was brought 
out more than two years since, in a style of great 
magnificence. The general character of the music 
somewhat disappointed the public opinion, but the 
gorgeousness of the scenic display was of itself 
sufficient to attract vast crowds. The glittering 
processions, the triumphant cavalcades of stalwart 
knights, resplendent in the burnished mail and 
armorial trappings, described by old Froissart in 
his Chronicle, seemed to reembody the gallant 
chivalry of the Middle Ages. 

The principal characters of the opera were ad- 
mirably sustained by Nourrit and Mademoiselle 
Falcon. The plot of the piece refers to that war- 
like period, when the persecution of the once 



OPERA OF "LA JUIVE." 247 

chosen people of God was at the highest point of 
exasperated bigotry. 

Eleazar, the rich Hebrew, and his lovely daugh- 
ter, are offered life on condition of renouncing their 
religion ; both steadfastly refuse, and are condemned 
to die. At the place of sacrifice, Eleazar informs 
the superintending Priest, that he is in posses- 
sion of a secret, to him of the utmost importance. 
"Many years since," continued the Jew, "the city 
of your residence was invaded and carried by storm. 
Your treasures were seized, your mansion razed 
to the ground, and an infant daughter was torn 
from its mother's bosom, by the brutal grasp of the 
ruffian. That daughter lives ; she was rescued, — 
rescued by a Jew, and I alone possess the secret 
of her existence." The Priest, with all a father's 
eloquence and tears, implores the revelation. Elea- 
zar wavers. At this moment the beautiful Jewess 
has attained the fatal platform ; a smile of trium- 
phant resignation lights up her pale features, one 
moment of suspense ensues, and she is precipitated 
headlong into the boiling caldron below. La voila! 
shrieks the Jew, and the whole vanishes from the 
eye. This incident, forming the nucleus of the 
drama, is wonderfully dramatic and effective ; there 
is some beautiful music in the piece. The mor- 
ceau, in the last act, descriptive of the Jew's love 
for his adopted child, and expressive also of his 
determination that she shall die with him, the se- 
cret unrevealed, rather than peril her soul by ab- 
juring the religion he has taught her, is replete 
with the most touching melody. 



248 paris. 

Some months subsequently appeared the grand 
Opera called Les Huguenots, by the composer of 
Robert. The incidents woven into the piece are 
drawn from that troublous period, when, under the 
dark auspices of Catharine de Medicis and her 
Nero-like son, the unsuspecting Huguenots, with 
the brave Coligni at their head, were well nigh 
extirpated, in one fell massacre, from the fair soil 
of France. 

As a composition, this opera must be pronounced 
inferior to Robert le Diable, and can be said to have 
added nothing to the previously acquired reputation 
of Mayerbeer. 

Having thus furnished a rapid summary of the 
operas, let us take a cursory glance at those dis- 
tinguished artists who appear in them. Of these, 
the most prominent is Nourrit ; after Rubini, sec- 
ond to no tenor in Europe, and possessing a merit 
Rubini has not, — that of being at the same time 
an excellent actor. 

In the high, passionate notes, the voice of Nour- 
rit is slightly marked with a nasal intonation, and 
in these passages can sustain no comparison with 
that clear, silvery ring, that, at the highest point of 
his compass, so eminently distinguishes the Italian. 
In person, Nourrit is of the middle height, with a 
broad, ample chest, and a figure inclined to corpu- 
lence. His features are regular, and his expression 
of countenance well adapted to the personation of 
the heroic characters he assumes. 

The yearly pension he receives is not so large, 
as, judging from his extreme popularity, one would 



LAFONT. — MADAME CINTI DAMOREAU. 249 

be led to infer. It amounts to thirty thousand 
francs. But consideration must be had, that there 
are but three performances weekly, and during the 
summer months the artist is entitled to a conge, 
which ensures him a golden harvest in the several 
Departments. 

Lafont possesses a tenor of excellent quality. 
He is the double of Nourrit, and during the absence 
of that artiste sustains the highest roles. The char- 
acters in which he appears to greatest advantage 
are the " Brama " in Le Dieu et la Bayadere, with 
Mademoiselle Taglioni for the " Zoloe," and " Mas- 
saniello." Lafont is what the French term a bel 
homme. His form approaches, in its large propor- 
tions, to the Herculean, and his features may be 
considered eminently handsome. 

Levasseur is the primo basso. His voice is deep 
and sonorous. In the character of Bertrand (Meyer- 
beer's Opera), this artiste appears to great advan- 
tage, and his deep, sepulchral tones consort effec- 
tively with the wild grandeur of the composition. 

Derivis sustains a relation to Levasseur similar 
to that which Lafont bears to Nourrit. There are 
other agreeable singers at the Academic, Dabadie, 
Alexis, Prevot, concerning whom it is unnecessary 
to enter into detail. 

The prima donna at the French Opera during 
the greater part of my residence in Paris was 
Madame Cinti Damoreau. This lady is considered 
one of the most charming singers in Europe, pos- 
sessing a fine voice, melodious and flexible, and 
developing at times extraordinary power. 
32 



250 PARIS. 

Madame Dorus Gras, the seconda Donna, is a 
Flamande, and possesses the flaxen hair and fair 
features of her countrywomen. " Quel dommage," 
I once heard an ebon-haired, dark-eyed French- 
woman remark, " Quel dommage que Madame 
Dorus a la chevelure si blonde ! " but despite " le 
dommage " of the more brilliant brunette, le teint 
frais, les yeux bleus, et les cheveux blonds of Mad- 
ame Dorus show to no small advantage, were it 
but for the variety, amid the dark features that 
flash around her. The soft, liquid quality of her 
voice, with its birdlike clearness, constitutes her 
a most pleasing cantatrice, although neither her 
power nor compass is at all extraordinary. 

The last that I shall mention is Mademoiselle 
Falcon, a pupil of the Conservatoire of Paris. This 
young lady made a most successful debut about four 
or five years since, and subsequently to that period 
has continued to rise steadily in the public estima- 
tion. She has been termed the hope of the French 
Lyric Opera. Her raven hair, her dark, flashing- 
eyes, and Oriental cast of countenance, combine 
to form, in aid of her peculiar powers, a rare union 
of physical advantage ; and, when years of study 
shall have added maturity to her talent, it is probable 
she will become the Pasta of the French Stage. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

The Dance. — La Revoke au Serail. — Taglioni. — Duvernay. — 
Fanny Essler. — Augusta. — Male Artistes. — Mazillier. — Mont- 
joie. — Perrot. — Italian Opera. — Rubini. — La Somnambula. — 
Its Perfonnanee here and in Paris. — Lablache. — La Prova d' un 
Opera Seria. — Tamburini. — Bellini. — Malibran. — Ivanhoff. — 
Giulia Grisi. — Her Success in La Norma. — Other Ladies of the 
Opera. — Operas most in Vogue. — Concluding Remarks on the 
Opera. 

Having now concluded our remarks upon the 
Opera and its distinguished ornaments, we will 
take a glance at the state of a sister art, — the 
graceful, airy danse. 

The Ballets, performing at the Acadcmie Royale 
during the time of my scjour in the French Capi- 
tal, were severally these ; " La Revoke au Serail," 
"Nathalie," "La Somnambule," " Mars et Venus," 
" La Tempete," " L'lle des Pirates," " La Syl- 
phide," besides the Ballet-Operas, " Le Dieu et 
la Bayadere," and " La Tentation." The most 
admired of the regular ballets, were La Revolte, 
La Tempete, and La Sylphide. In the first and 
last, Mademoiselle Taglioni appeared ; while in the 
Tempete were developed the graceful action of 
Duvernay, and the unrivalled brilliancy of Fanny 
Essler. 

The ballet of "La Revolte au Serail " is a gor- 
geous Eastern spectacle, founded, as its name 
imports, upon an incident of revolt from their ty- 



PARIS. 

rannical despot, among the fair slaves of the Sera- 
glio. The insurrection is headed by Taglioni, who, 
bound in the chains of mutual attachment with the 
most successful soldier of the empire, Mazillier, 
has scornfully rejected the imperious addresses 
of her new and despotic admirer. By the aid of 
a magic rose, the gift of a grateful fairy, whom, in 
humble guise, she had befriended and screened 
from punishment, the fair leader is enabled to 
change her companions' lutes to bristling spears. 
The attendant eunuch, who stands aghast at the 
view of this astounding metamorphosis, is seized by 
the beauteous rebels and bound to a massive pillar 
by numerous folds of a silken shawl. This done, 
the fairy's gift throws open wide the ponderous 
iron gates of the Harem, and, the retreat thus 
secured, — closes them again upon the enraged 
pursuers ; the fair and flying troop embark in 
gilded barges, and float triumphantly down the 
sheeny stream that laves the palace walls. An- 
other act discovers a troop of Amazons, with the 
helmet and the cuirass ; the spear has now given 
place to the more effective fusil. It is the dead of 
night, and, dispersed in the cheerless bivouac along 
that mountain-defile, the wearied soldiers taste 
the hard-earned sweets of repose. 

The expiring fire is dimly fading in the embers ; 
some one enters that silent camp, — is it a spy ? 
With noiseless steps he approaches the recumbent 
leader ; his hand is on her shoulder ; she springs to 
her feet, and grasps the ready weapon. It is her 
lover. The feelings of the woman are stronger than 



LA REVOLTE AU SERAIL. 253 

those of the soldier ; almost unconsciously, she relin- 
quishes her weapon to the intruder, when of a 
sudden, at the loud beat of drum and shrill cry of 
clarion, rise from their slumbers, the startled troop, 
and stand ready for combat. The opportune gift of 
the fairy preserves them in the hour of peril, and 
the Sultan, unsuccessful and despairing, dismisses 
an envoy with offers of peace on conditions most 
favorable to the insurgents. The envoy is received 
in state, the rebel officers hold council, and, con- 
senting at length to the proposed articles, send back 
the ambassador, escorted by a detachment of the 
soldiery. 

At this point of the drama, the rocky mountain 
pass, with its rugged scenery, is suddenly lost to 
the vision, and in its stead appears a fairy palace 
surrounded by delicious gardens, and overlooking a 
lovely and sun-lighted landscape. The warm tints 
of an Oriental sky impart a voluptuous, mellow 
splendor to the scene. In the midst of her shining 
company is seen the benevolent fairy, upon whose 
head burns the inextinguishable emblematic flame. 

The troops now go through a long series of mili- 
tary evolutions, and put in practice the most 
favorite manoeuvres of French tactics. The cur- 
tain falls at length, leaving the spectator not a 
little pleased with the fine discipline and fasci- 
nating appearance of so gallant a corps. 

The piece, however, best calculated to display 
the graceful talent of Taglioni, and the one in 
which she has gained her proudest laurels, is the 
beautiful ballet of " La Sylphide." In person Ta- 
glioni rather exceeds the middle height. Her figure 



254 paris. 

is slender and not remarkable for faultless symme- 
try ; a well-turned ancle and pretty foot terminates 
a limb of admirable contour and fine muscular 
developement. There is in all the movements of 
this queen of the danse, an indescribable je ne sais 
quoi, that seems to image forth the very poetry of 
motion. Possessing apparently less specific gravity 
than others, she quits the grovelling earth, and, 
springing sylph-like into the air, seems ever reluc- 
tant to descend. 

I have seen her clear the wide stage in three 
lofty, circling bounds, while the enraptured specta- 
tors shook the huge house with their deafening and 
enthusiastic plaudits. Her forte is not the rapid 
pirouette, nor dazzling tour de force. Montessu 
excels her in agility, and Fanny Essler in brilliancy 
of execution ; but these, I humbly conceive, are 
not the most prominent features of the legitimate 
danse. In that airy, ineffable grace, hovering about 
each motion, and fascinating unconsciously the 
sense, she is unrivalled and alone. Of all the 
artistes at the Academie Royale, Duvernay most 
resembles her in style. This celebrated danseuse 
possesses an exterior more pleasing than that of 
Taglioni. In person she is tall and beautifully 
formed, with a countenance, whose engaging ex- 
pression and fine features interest and charm. Her 
action is in the highest degree harmonious, happily 
embodying those nice shades of meaning, which 
even language finds it difficult to delineate. In the 
roles of Miranda in La Tentation, and that of Mi- 
randa in La Tempcte, founded on Shakspeare's 
play, she has no superior. 



TAGLIONI. — FANNY ESSLER. 255 

The breath of scandal has not sullied the purity 
of Mademoiselle Taglioni's fame. The conjugal 
relation she some years since formed, proved un- 
happy. Her husband, the son of a peer, consumed 
her ample means in gambling and extravagance, 
and found at length a lodging in St. P'elagie. 
From this cause, as regards pecuniary prospects, 
she has been compelled to commence the world 
anew, and her present splendid engagement at St. 
Petersburg, under the auspices of the Czar, will 
go far to retrieve the losses she has sustained. 

Fanny Essler is of a school totally diverse from 
that which boasts the above distinguished artistes. 
Her style is of the rapid and brilliant. She posses- 
ses an agreeable countenance, with regular features 
and sparkling eyes. Her figure is good and bien 
prise pour la force. Her style of dancing borrows its 
principal lustre from physical ability. Those fairy, 
dreamy motions, through which, as an atmosphere, 
Taglioni seems ever to float, belong not to her. 

In the stately minuet, Fanny Essler would make 
but a comparatively poor figure ; but in executing 
the difficult fantasia, if I may use the expression, 
of a pas seul, where she can display the swift 
wheel of the pirouette, with the Camilla-like trip 
sur les pointes, the fair German is not to be sur- 
passed. A brilliant feature in her style is the 
closing tip-toe pose, where, poised with arms ex- 
tended, she gracefully acknowledges for a moment 
the plaudits showered upon her, and then descend- 
ing to a natural position, flits away like a sylph 
from the bewildered gaze. 



256 paris. 

While at Paris, I also witnessed the debut of 
Madame Augusta, at the Academic Royale ; it was, 
I believe, in the role of " Fenella" in Auber's Opera 
of " Massaniello." Her performance of it was ad- 
mirable and effective. Soon after, she sustained 
the principal character in the splendid Ballet of the 
" He des Pirates." The rank held by this lady at 
the finest theatre in Europe, will fully justify her 
proud claims to preeminence elsewhere. 

At the time I saw her in Paris, she was more 
particularly noted as an actress, although her danc- 
ing was ever graceful and appropriate. During the 
interval between that period and her appearance 
upon our boards, she has made great improvement 
in the latter branch of her profession. 

In remarking upon the clause, the idea of the 
stronger sex is scarce suggested to the mind. That 
poetry and harmony of motion, deprived of which, 
this accomplishment is but a succession of meaning- 
less and uninteresting movements, cannot exist in 
their full beauty, apart from the peculiar grace and 
delicacy to be found only in woman. Impressed 
with this idea, I have, while on the subject of the 
ballet, scarce bestowed a thought upon the male 
artistes who serve also to compose it. Before 
quitting the theme entirely, however, I will advert 
in a few words to the most distinguished of them. 

At the time of my residence in Paris, Mazillier 
was the most useful man in this department of 
the Academie Royale, not as a danseur exclusively, 
but as a good general performer ; various and ener- 
getic in his action, animated and correct in his 



MONTJOIE. — PERROT. — ITALIAN OPERA. 257 

gesture. Montjoie was then, and had long been, the 
bel homme of the ballet. This actor always ap- 
peared in characters of dignity and importance, 
which, from the nature of their station, would be 
presumed to require no striking display of agility ; 
in such roles, for instance, as the Sultan in " La 
Revoke," or his Infernal Majesty in " La Tenta- 
tion," from the elegance of his person, and a cor- 
responding gracefulness of manner, Montjoie had 
no equal. 

Of the regular danseurs, the most remarkable 
were Perrot, Mabile, and an Italian, Guerra. Noth- 
ing could exceed the easy agility of Perrot, and he 
was as ugly as he was active. " C'est bien dom- 
mage" said a Parisian journal du spectacle, " que 
cet artiste a un sifacheux exterieur ; " but, ugliness 
aside, he certainly was a splendid dancer. I never 
saw any thing more magnificent in its way than 
a pas de deux between him and Mademoiselle 
Taglioni, in a scene of the " Revoke. " Both 
exerted themselves to the utmost, and the effect 
was grander than any thing which I had previously 
conceived could emanate from a similar source. 

Having thus hastily sketched the more promi- 
nent artists, whether in the Opera or the Ballet, 
that adorn the scene of the Jlcademie Royale, 
we will take a glance at the sister opera, which 
boasts the enchanting music of Italy. The artists, 
to whom this music is confided, are all of the 
first ability, and constitute a galaxy of talent un- 
equalled on the European continent. The gold 
of France and England has bought up the rarest 
33 



258 paris. 

talent of Italy, which that impoverished country 
could not itself adequately maintain. 

There is Rubini, whose impassioned notes are 
the admiration of the musical world. Deep pathos 
is a grand characteristic of this celebrated singer ; 
his thrilling accents pierce the very soul. An ha- 
bitual melancholy expression of countenance renders 
his affecting passages doubly touching. As a nat- 
ural result, Rubini's forte is not the gay and bru- 
yante music which distinguishes the composer of 
Guillaume Tell. It is the more pensive genius of 
Bellini, that has developed the wonderful powers 
of this artist to their fullest extent. 

Among the various operas of this master, in 
which Rubini appears, my individual judgment 
would prompt me to select La Somnambula, as the 
one affording him the completest triumph. It is 
here, as the heart-broken lover of Amina, that 
Rubini infuses his very soul into the passionate 
music of the piece. His manner of rendering the 
beautiful aria, " Ah ! perche non posso odiarti ? ' 
is indescribably touching. So perfectly is he mas- 
ter of the music, that the difficulty of the piece, 
usually sufficient in itself to engross the attention 
of the mediocre singer to the great prejudice of 
effect, is with him no greater obstacle to the full 
and entire expression of it, than would be the or- 
dinary tones of the human voice, as employed in 
common conversation. Rubini is, unquestionably, 
the only tenor in Europe, who can do full justice 
to the exquisite melody and soul-stirring pathos of 
this beautiful air. And here I must observe, that, 



LA SOMNAMBULA. — LABLACHE. 259 

notwithstanding the great and deserved success of 
that immortal piece, which may be looked upon as 
the most pathetic offspring of Bellini's muse, the 
American audiences, who have listened with a 
delight ever-increasing to its touching strains, can 
have but a faint idea of the heightened and in- 
tense effect, with which the Opera was produced, 
under the immediate eye of the composer, when 
the several parts were consigned to the artists 
for whom they were written, and adapted to 
the peculiar powers of each ; the whole, too, 
accompanied by a complete and admirably con- 
ducted orchestra, within the eloquent compass of 
whose varied tones could be embodied each warm 
conception ; whether, in full resounding volume, it 
should swell onward and upward to the sublime ; 
or, led on by imagination, follow in the light train 
of some exquisite fancy, until the soft notes fade 
away from the thrilled senses like the shadow of a 
dream. 

Next comes il primo basso, Signor Lablache. 
His portly figure and agreeable visage, replete 
with humor, enlist your judgment in his favor be- 
fore an accent escapes his lips ; — but hark ! his 
mouth opens, and there rolls forth, from the im- 
mense amplitude of chest, a volume of sound, that 
would seem to threaten all other sounds with an- 
nihilation. Not only has Lablache the merit of 
being the most excellent bass, that Italy, and par 
consequence the world, can boast ; but he has also 
been termed the most admirable comedian in Eu- 
rope. Of all the pieces in which I have seen this 



260 PARIS. 

celebrated artist, that entitled La Prova cV wn? 
Opera Seria is best adapted to display his rich 
comic verve. This musical sketch shows the re- 
hearsal of a grand opera in all that characteristic 
confusion, in which rehearsals delight. At length, 
order being in some degree obtained, and a few of 
the company brought together, Lablache, the mae- 
stro commences his instructions to the performers. 
The prima donna, being an important personage, is 
unwilling to brook the dominant maimer of the 
maestro, and a most amusing skirmish ensues be- 
tween them. During the musical encounter, is 
given the admired duett, " Ah, qual figura," in 
which the peculiarities of either party are very 
happily hit off. This at length adjusted, the primo 
tenor e, Ivanhoff, is taken to task for an alleged 
deficiency in energy and fire. The composer gives 
him a passage to execute, and, thinking the voice 
quite as much as he can attend to, himself takes 
charge of the arms, in order to ensure an animated 
gesticulation. The singer commences and goes 
through the passage, while the arms, under the 
command of the fiery maestro, likewise perpetrate 
a series of most energetic and astounding gestures. 
The composer is delighted at the improved effect, 
and the audience acknowledges the felicity of the 
conception by peals of laughter and applause. 

But the most humorous scene in the piece is 
that in which the composer appears, laden with a 
vast collection of papers, containing the overture to 
his opera. These he proceeds with infinite gravity 
to bestow upon the orchestra, — corno primo, — 



LA PROVA D' UN' OPERA SERIA. 261 

corno secondo, — and off goes the music, circling 
through the air, to the instruments in question, — 
violino primOj trombone, violino secondo, and so on, 
until all seem supplied ; but still, as the shopmen 
say, there was a large balance on hand, which 
seemed to puzzle the worthy maestro. At length 
it occurs to him how to dispose of them. He 
throws the whole, en masse, at the head of the 
musician, whose office it is to beat music from the 
strained parchment, and roars out in a voice of 
thunder, Grosse caisse ! (bass drum.) Thus all 
arranged, he bids them strike up, and straight 
the ear is saluted with a chaos of sound, that 
would drive the Goddess of Discord herself to 
despair. It most effectually discomposes the 
nerves of the composer, who rushes about the 
stage like a chafed lion, scattering the subordinates 
in every direction. Silence is at last restored, 
another ineffectual attempt ensues, and another, 
until, by dint of constant trial, the due degree of 
harmony is finally attained, and Monsieur " L'Or- 
chestre " is reinstated in the good graces of the 
maestro. 

The piece concludes with a grand musical crash, 
in which every voice, on its highest key, is pressed 
into the service ; each and every instrument 
squeaks, brays, and bellows, as the case may be, 
at the top of its compass ; but, above the terrific 
din, rises distinct the mighty voice of Lablache, 
directing the whole. The curtain veils the scene, 
and I for one quitted the house much better pleas- 
ed (if it be lawful to infringe on unity of time and 



262 paris. 

place) with the rehearsal of an opera, than I now 
expect to be, for a long period of time, with the 
regular representation of one. 

Siffnor Tamburini is another of the virtuosi 
who adorn the Italian Opera. His finished style 
and brilliant execution have procured him, with 
many, the proud title of the most perfect singer 
in Europe. Tamburini's distinguishing charac- 
teristic, is his wonderfully rapid vocalization. His 
voice runs from note to note with an incredible 
celerity ; but this feature of his style, though novel 
and astonishing in a bass singer, has the effect of 
giving to his theme a harsh, rumbling sound, not 
unlike that of distant thunder, and very dissimilar 
to the clear, sonorous depth of Lablache's organ- 
like voice. 

Although Tamburini is considered a thorough 
bass, yet, when brought into immediate competition 
with Lablache, his voice seems but a barytone, 
and is lost in the weighty volume of the other's 
tremendous organ. This was never more fully 
manifest, than in the rendering of that magnificent, 
soul-stirring duet, which set the seal of success 
to Bellini's immortal composition, / Puritani. I 
allude, of course, to the famous " Suoni la trom- 
ba ! Intrepido," which concludes the second act of 
the piece. 

Tamburini commenced with excellent effect, 
when Lablache stepped forward, and, like Stentor 
of old, threw in a volume of sound, hushing, as 
does the cannon's roar, all else to silence. The 
singers, each aware that this was the turning 



I PURITANI.— BELLINI. 263 

point of the piece, and a pierre de touche, to show 
where dwelt superior merit, exerted themselves to 
the utmost. Its effect upon the enthusiastic Par- 
isians was magical ; never was a musical morceau 
devoured with keener relish. 

When the duet was over, plaudits shook the 
crowded salle from parterre jusqii'aux quatriemes ; 
the cries of " Bis, bis ! " absolutely rent the air ; it 
was repeated, and, when the drop scene descended, 
Bellini, by the unanimous voice of the enraptured 
audience, was called forth, to receive that meed 
of applause so grateful to sensitive genius, and 
which at Paris is ever extended to encourage suc- 
cessful talent. From that moment, the new Op- 
era became the rage, and the laurel-wreathed 
composer received from the King of the French 
those honorary insignia, that, in the eyes of the 
European, far outweigh applause or treasure. 

Helas ! this was the final offering of the youth- 
ful, — the lamented Bellini. Like the voice of 
that beautiful bird, whose notes are sweetest when 
expiring, the bright flame in the breast of Bel- 
lini, so soon to be quenched, burned, in its last 
prophetic glare, with a brilliancy transcending 
aught before. 

Paris wept when Bellini died, and, to the mu- 
sical world, the extinction of this bright star 
seemed to herald another irreparable loss. But a 
few months more were numbered with the past, 
when, she, — the bright queen of song, — she, to 
whose grandeur the pensive muse of Bellini had 
so much contributed ; she, who will be remem- 



264 paris. 

♦ 

bered, while the divine strains of La Somnambula, 
and the JYorma, can find a home in the heart, 
the incomparable Malibran, descended mysteriously 
to the dark tomb. 

But we have digressed. The only male artist 
of note at the Italian Opera, who remains now to 
be spoken of, is Ivanhoff, a Russian, as his name 
plainly purports. His debut, some few years since, 
was very successful, and he was much talked of 
at the time ; but, as it would seem, he has dis- 
appointed the great expectations formed of him. 
This artist is the pupil of Rubini, who has taken 
great pains to perfect his musical education ; but 
the eleve can never aspire to the place held by his 
master. 

Ivanhoff's voice is a tenor of great sweetness, 
but by no means remarkable for power or pathos. 
His best role is that of Percy, in Donizetti's opera 
of Anna Bolena. In this part, his celebrated aria, 
" Vivi tu," is extremely sweet and affecting, and 
ever received with loud and long applause. 

We will now advert to the ladies of the Opera, 
to whom gallantry should have assigned the pri- 
ority ; but, on the correct principle of reserving 
what we have of most excellent until the close of 
the seance, I have thus far delayed their bright 
advent ; and first, of Giulia Grisi. That name 
recalls to me a vision of flowing tresses, dark 
as the fathomless gloom of night ; of the clear 
olive tint, enriching the rounded cheek ; of the 
dark, languishing eye, bedewed with that humid 
lustre, poets tell us it is dangerous to look upon. 



LADIES OF THE OPERA. 265 

All these, and more, recur to the mind on the 
mention of the fascinating prima donna of Paris. 

Giulia Grisi is at once a beautiful woman and 
an exquisite singer. In the high queenly roles, 
such as La Semiramide and Anna Bolena, she is 
really magnificent. The crown, whose jewels 
blaze upon her brow, could not surmount a more 
imperial front; — and then her acting, so energetic, 
so impassioned, and that unreserved abandon, with 
which she lends her whole soul to the spirit of 
the scene ; — with what intense force and reality 
do they invest the startling illusion ! And then 
the less heroic parts ; — take, for example, the 
maid she personates in La Gazza Ladra, (can 
this be the lofty Empress, — the impassioned 
Queen ? ) — how beautiful is the bird-like carol, 
with which she first bounds upon the stage ! 
Sure that finely-stringed instrument, an Italian 
larynx, never did vibrate in softer music ; the very 
air seems redolent of harmony. 

The character of " La Norma," in Bellini's op- 
era of that name, seems peculiarly adapted to the 
fine powers of Mademoiselle Grisi. The rapt 
Pythoness, where the dark eye dilates with the 
enthusiasm inseparable from her calling, — how to 
the life ! The fearful pangs of maddening jeal- 
ousy at the more than suspected infidelity of her 
lover, goading her into the horrible idea of destroy- 
ing the infant pledges of their mutual loves, — with 
what terrible energy are they depicted ! Like 
the Italian wife in Milman's Fazio, she reveals the 
secret of her lover ; she acquaints her tribe that 
34 



266 paris. 

he is a Roman, and herself takes the iatal knife, 
which is to terminate his existence. Pollio bares 
his bosom to receive the death-blow from the 
woman he has loved. She falters. The intense 
fondness she once bore him returns again to her 
breast ; that sacrificial knife drops from her hand. 

The druids, assembled around to witness the 
welcome sacrifice, demand an explanation of the 
mystery. She now, with tears, clings about her 
father's knees, and implores the life her breath has 
cast away. In vain ; the stern druid is relentless. 
But she can, at least, share his fate, — " Son 
madre!" (I am a mother!) she shrieks aloud. 
Her doom is sealed. A priestess and a prophetess, 
enjoined, on penalty of death, a vestal purity, — her 
blood can alone wash out the stain. They are led 
to their punishment. She turns to Pollio, with a 
countenance where anxiety and anguish have given 
place to a heavenly smile, and exclaims, " Moria- 
mo insieme ! " (Let us die together !) The scene 
is indescribably affecting. 

Beside the prima donna, there are other ladies 
of the Italian Opera, deserving of mention. Mad- 
ame Albertazzi, from the Opera at Madrid, and 
Signorina Alessandri, a young cantatrice, of much 
promise. Mademoiselle Amigo, also, has a very 
pretty face to recommend her, but is not distin- 
guished for eminent vocal talent. 

The operas most in vogue, at the time of my 
residence in Paris, were La Straniera, II Pirata, 
La Norma, Im Somnambida, I Puritani, (Bellini,) 
Donnizetti's Anna Bolena, (a favorite role of Mad- 



CONCLUDING REMARKS ON THE OPERA. 267 

emoiselle Grisi,) La Gazza Ladra, 11 Barbicre, 
La Semiramide, Mose in Egitto, with La Cene- 
rentola, by Rossini. 

I have thus dwelt, at considerable length, upon 
the Opera, for the reason of its being, at the 
present era, the most prominent feature of public 
amusement, and likewise on account of the great 
degree of perfection to which it is brought in 
Paris, — being universally allowed to surpass 
any other in the civilized world. For the last 
century, the inhabitants of Paris have looked upon 
the Opera with pride, as going far to make good 
their assumed superiority in those arts and ele- 
gances, which mark the acme of civilization. 
" Cest uji pays delicieux que V Opera, Monsieur" 
said a French gentleman to me, in the course of a 
conversation upon the subject. It is hardly nec- 
essary to add, that I awarded a cordial assent to 
the axiom. 



CHAPTER XX. 

The Theatre Francais. — Ligier. — Mademoiselle Mars. — Madame 
Volnys. — Casimir De la Vigne. — Don Juan d'Autriche. — Outline 
of it. — Theatre de la Porte St. Martin. — Mademoiselle Georges. 
— The Gymnase. — Theatre des Varietes — The Vaudeville. — 
Other Theatres in Paris. — The Wandering Jew. — The Opera 
Comique. — Le Pre aux Clercs. — The Odeon. — French Fond- 
ness for Theatrical Exhibitions and Music. 

From the Opera, let us turn to the strong-hold 
of the Come die Francaise, where developed itself 
the genius of a Talma. The Theatre Francais 
is not now what it was during the life of that 
celebrated actor. Still, it is interesting, if for 
nought else, from its being the sole dramatic 
temple, where are yet listened to, the immortal 
conceptions of Corneille, the graceful, flowing 
verse of Racine, the pure and sparkling wit of 
Moliere. Not that the Comedie Francaise, even 
at the present time, is shorn of all its brilliancy. 
It has yet its Ligier, Mademoiselle Mars, Dorval, 
and Volnys. 

Ligier is the first of the French tragedians. I 
do not recollect of ever having seen a more ex- 
cellent actor. His voice of thunder, and speaking 
eye, his well-pointed emphasis and clear enun- 
ciation, with an energy, that can kindle to resist- 
less fire, yet obeyeth ever to the sense, — justly 
entitle him to the rank of first favorite with the 



LIGIER. — MADAME DORVAL. 269 

Tragic Muse. How different is the combination 
I have mentioned, from the tame, spiritless action, 
so much in favor upon our stage, or that bel- 
lowing rant, that would strive, with prodigal 
breath, to hide a paucity of intellect. Of Li- 
gier, I can from experience say, as one of my 
friends observed to me respecting Talma, in the 
whirlwind of a passionate scene in the Oreste ; 
" I gazed," said he, " until an icy thrill, such as 
one feels in the immediate anticipation of some 
terrible event, curdled my very blood." In one 
particular scene, 1 have yet a most forcible re- 
membrance of this actor's power, conjoined with 
that of Madame Dorval, to the full, as effective. 

The plot of the piece was analogous, in some 
respects, to that of a melo-drama, often represent- 
ed upon our stage. The action of the play takes 
place in the region of the Moor, where the soil 
stretches, scorched and arid, under the fervid 
kisses of a tropical sun. The principal characters 
were personated by Ligier and Madame Dorval. 
They are lovers, and their love is characterized 
by an intensity, known only in those burning 
climes. As the complicated plot approaches to a 
denouement, a fatal light breaks in. The lovers, 
— they are a brother, and his long lost sister, 
for years mourned as dead. The intense, ab- 
sorbing horror, which seizes the hapless pair, gives 
birth to a scene, more terribly exciting and har- 
rowing in its nature, than aught I have ever wit- 
nessed, where the " mirror is held up to Nature." 
The feelings are strained to their extremest ten- 



270 PARIS. 

sion ; the eye withdraws itself from the scene, 
and involuntarily seeks the countenances of those 
around ; while over the mind there creeps the 
vague, sickening apprehension, of some terrible 
catastrophe. 

Of course, however, the play ends well, and all 
seems brighter, from the deep contrast. The in- 
fancy and childhood of those lovers were reared 
by the same fostering hand, but not with equal 
privilege to such protecting care. Disinterested 
pity for the one, worked the kindly office that ma- 
ternal love suggested for the other. 

Mademoiselle Mars is the pride of the old 
French comedy, and such has she been for the 
last thirty years. She is the actress of the Di- 
rectory, the Consulate, the Empire, as well as of 
the Bourbon and Orleans dynasties. Despite her 
sixty years, she is yet the idol of those, who prize 
the genuine old Comedy ; for her excellences are 
those, that time but lightly affects. This cele- 
brated actrice possesses an agreeable countenance, 
with rather large features. Her person is com- 
manding, with a tendency to embonpoint. The 
great charm of her style is an extreme graceful- 
ness of delivery ; her sentences are given in a voice 
of silvery sweetness, and clearest enunciation ; she 
abounds not in gesticulation, but that she makes 
use of is at once harmonious and expressive. 

In the petite comedie of " Valerie," where she 
personates the heroine, — a young demoiselle of 
nineteen, and beautifully too, — I have heard her 
recite a long passage from the dialogue, in that 



MADAME VOLNYS. 271 

soft, silvery tone, unaided by gesture, and without 
the slightest movement from the spot where she 
stood ; and yet, when the recital was terminated, 
long and bruyant was the applause that greeted it. 

Madame Volnys, who made her debut at the 
Theatre Francais, some three years since, is the 
lady, who, under the name of Leontine Fay, was 
so much admired for her precocious talent. Pre- 
vious to her appearance at the Comedie Francaise, 
she had, for several years, been the principal orna- 
ment of the Gymnase. The ci-devant Leontine is 
a clever actress, and, what is of equally great 
importance for success in Paris, a pretty woman. 
Her figure is tall and Men prise, her hair is dark, 
and her eye quick and brilliant. Her style of 
acting is spirited, and at times pathetic ; but there 
is an admixture of affectation throughout, which 
steals from the general effect. 

The works of the old French dramatists are now 
seen but comparatively seldom upon the scene of 
the Theatre Francais. Public taste has placed its 
stamp of popularity upon a different order of com- 
position. Casimir De la Vigne is now the most 
successful dramatist of the Comedie Francaise. 
His play, entitled " Don Juan d'Autriche," had a 
prodigious run, and, with another, " Louis Onze," 
that enjoyed nearly a similar success, proved more 
attractive than any thing brought out at this 
theatre, during my long stay in the French cap- 
ital. 

As the first of these performances met with such 
decided success before the most fastidious audience 



272 paris. 

in Paris, and, we might say, in Europe, perhaps 
it may not prove tiresome to the reader to throw 
a cursory glance over its more prominent inci- 
dents. 

Don Juan d'Autriche, the hero of the play, 
is the younger son of the great emperor, Charles 
the Fifth, of Germany, and brother of Philip, king 
of Spain. From his infancy, he is destined for a 
life of piety and monastic seclusion ; and at an 
early age is consigned to the care of one well 
fitted, in the opinion of his royal relatives, to 
promote such holy purpose. But Don Juan, who 
seems intuitively to have preferred any course of 
life to the one destined for him, contrives, through 
the assistance of the menials, to deceive his in- 
dulgent and credulous governor, and at last plights 
his troth to a beautiful girl (personated by Mad- 
ame Volnys), of whose Jewish extraction he is for 
a long time left in ignorance. 

At length, Philip of Spain comes to visit his 
brother, of whose progress in a religious education 
he has received the most encouraging accounts. 

The brothers have an interview, in the progress 
of which the monarch questions the novice with 
some severity. Don Juan is here taken greatly 
at disadvantage, — having been ever sedulously 
kept in ignorance of his noble birth, and being, in 
consequence, totally unconscious of the relation- 
ship subsisting between him and that stern ques- 
tioner. 

Philip is not a little surprised at the entire 
absence of spirituality from the conversation of an 



OUTLINE OF "DON JUAN D'AUTRICHE." 273 

eleve, who, he had been led to believe, was a 
paragon of enthusiastic piety ; and, upon his ex- 
pressing himself with acrimony on the subject, 
Don Juan at once throws off the mask, exclaiming, 
" II n'y a que trois choses dans le monde ; la guerre, 
la chasse et les femmes." This is one of the most 
effective points in the piece. The King, aston- 
ished beyond measure, abruptly concludes the in- 
terview. 

So glaring a violation of the spirit of the Order 
was not to be overlooked ; and Don Juan is sen- 
tenced to expiate his offence in the gloomy silence 
of a monastery. As it happens, the one selected 
for his imprisonment is the same in which the 
conqueror of Pavia, upon his abdication of the 
Germanic throne, had retired, a voluntary Exile. 
From the strong family resemblance, aided by a 
variety of incidental circumstances, the Imperial 
recluse is not long in discovering, in that young 
stranger, the son of his old age, Don Juan d'Au- 
triche. Forgetting the disappointment of his origi- 
nal scheme, the Emperor sees with delight in his 
son the traces of that martial spirit, that inspired 
his ancestors ; and, as a friendly token, he gives 
the youth the sword worn by himself at the battle 
of Pavia. 

Through the connivance of his father, and the as- 
sistance of a little dependant upon the convent, — 
charmingly personated by Mademoiselle Anais, 
— Don Juan is enabled to escape from his con- 
finement. 

After passing through a variety of scenes, he 
35 



274 paris. 

is at length brought before Philip, to be judged 
for his misdeeds. At this critical juncture, when 
the fate of our hero hangs upon a hair, Charles 
the Fifth appears in the Hall of Justice, and, by 
the weight of his paternal authority and name, 
succeeds in reconciling the brothers. 

The conclusion of the piece, as regards the tie 
between Don Juan and the lady of his heart, is 
truly French. Although the lover originally re- 
solved to sacrifice all considerations to the ardor 
of his passion, yet his noble birth, the commands of 
the superstitious King, and the general tone of the 
age, forbade such unequal nuptials. Don Juan 
yields to the force of circumstances, and the un- 
happy lady is compelled to seek a husband else- 
where. The characters, throughout the drama, 
are well sustained ; that of Charles, by Ligier, 
cannot be too much praised. 

With materials, such as these, has Casimir De 
la Vigne constructed a performance, which may 
be regarded as the most successful of the day. 

Leaving the Francais, we will now take a 
glance at the Theatre de la Porte St. Martin. 
This is the chosen resort of the modern French 
Tragedy, — the tragedy of Victor Hugo and his 
school. 

Mademoiselle Georges is the presiding dispenser 
of the horrors nightly served up to regale the 
habitues of the Porte St. Martin. Her forte is 
deep tragedy. She appears to advantage in Du- 
mas' celebrated piece, called La Tour de JYIesle, 
in Victor Hugo's Lucrcce Borgia, and in the Fam- 






THEATRE DE LA PORTE ST. MARTIN. 275 

ille Moronval. In these effusions, the Tragic Muse 
dons her robe of deepest black ; each scene 
breathes of treachery and murder ; the assassin's 
dagger and the poisoned bowl are the rapid and 
effective machinery, that hurries the complicated 
drama to its final denouement. 

There is something really horrid and revolting 
to the feelings in each of the three pieces men- 
tioned above, and yet all Paris flocked to see 
them. So diseased and insatiate is the appetite 
for the horrible, that even the writers, who essay 
to feed it, seem to fear only that the alembic of 
their dark imaginings shall distil nought sufficiently 
potent to appease awhile this morbid craving. For 
many years, Mademoiselle Georges occupied, as tra- 
gedienne, a position second to none upon the French 
stage. At present, her prodigious size interferes with 
the exhibition of that energy, for which she was for- 
merly remarkable ; yet is her acting ever impres- 
sive, and, at times, intensely terrific. Perhaps, 
however, this effect may result as much from the 
nature of the pieces, in which she appears, as from 
any individual display of talent. In her youth, 
Mademoiselle Georges is said to have been emi- 
nently beautiful. Report has made her the favor- 
ite of crowned heads. However that may be, she 
was finally banished from France, by Napoleon, 
and found a refuge and protection in the dominions 
of Alexander. 

Happy to escape from the ominous Porte St. 
Martin, we will stroll along the Boulevard, and 
look in at the Gymnase, (formerly Theatre Ma- 



276 paris. 

dame.) This neat edifice is the home of smiling 
Comedy, and the spirituelle vaudeville, which are 
admirably sustained by the united talent of Paul, 
Allan, and Bouffe, with Mesdames Eugenie Sau- 
vage, and Allan Despreaux, whose charming nai- 
vete, and languishing blue eyes, ever pleased me 
quite as much as the play. The Gymnase is well 
patronized by the public, and is decidedly one of 
the most delightful theatres in Paris. 

The Theatre des Varietcs holds a rank one grade 
below that of the Gymnase. It is, as the name 
would show, dedicated to Variety. An evening 
passed here rarely fails to afford a hearty laugh- 
You have the broad farceur Odry, Frederic Lemai- 
tre, (of Robert Macaire celebrity,) and the inimi- 
table Vernet, whom I should place at the head of 
low comedians. There is a richness of comic 
verve about Vernet, that is perfectly irresistible. 
In the female department, Mademoiselle Jenny 
Colon was, until a year or two past, the brightest 
star ; but this fascinating actress aspired to opera, 
and deserted the Varietes for the Opera Comique. 

The Vaudeville, situated near the Palais Royal, 
and the Rue St. Honore, is a favorite resort for 
those, who are fond of the light, piquant style of 
comedy, from which this theatre derives its name. 
There are excellent performers at the Vaudeville, 
among whom must be particularly designated, 
Arnal, Lepeintre, jeune et aine, and Lafont. As 
regards the ladies, there are Mademoiselle Louise 
Mayer, and the beautiful Anais Fargueil, whose 
successful debut at this theatre, I had the pleasure 
of witnessing. 



OTHER THEATRES IN PARIS. 277 

The above theatres are the most frequented of 
Paris. Besides these, there are the Theatre du 
Palais Royal, the Folies Dramatiques, Gaiete, 
Salle Ventadour, the Ambigu Comique, the Cirque 
Olympique, and several others, less known to fame. 
The "Ambigu Comique" is no misnomer; it cer- 
tainly is a most ambiguously comic theatre. Dur- 
ing my stay in Paris, there was a piece produced 
at this house, entitled Le Juif Errant, which met 
with prodigious success. The commencement of 
the drama refers back to the earliest dawn of the 
Christian faith, when that mysterious personage, 
the Wandering Jew, is supposed to have first set 
out on his endless peregrinations. From that early 
era, he is conducted through a long succession of 
scenes, down to the enlightened reign of Louis 
Quinze, and is seen at supper with the king and 
his belle mattresse, la Marquise de Pompadour, 
in the likeness of a Count St. Germain, whose 
eccentricities and supposed extreme longevity cre- 
ated no little stir at that period. This play is of 
a nature, which could scarce exist in any atmo- 
sphere, save that of Paris ; but there, for an im- 
mense number of nights, its consecutive represent- 
ations attracted crowded audiences. 

I have alluded to this extraordinary drama, the 
rather as it affords a startling evidence of the 
lukewarmness of public feeling in the French capi- 
tal on the subject of religion, than for any intrinsic 
merit in the composition, or aught else. 

There are two theatres, of which I have not yet 
made mention. These are the Opera Comique, 



278 paris. 

and the Odeon. Respecting the former, as I have 
already treated at large of the French Opera, but 
a passing notice will be given. The Opera Com- 
ique is situated in the Rue Vivienne, nearly 
opposite the Bourse. The most popular music at 
this house is that of Boieldieu, Herold, and Auber, 
as represented in their chefs-d'oeuvre, — La Dame 
Blanche, Le Pre aux Clercs, and Fra Diavolo. 
Le Pre aux Clercs is exceedingly admired by the 
Parisians. When the opera first came out, it was 
perfectly what is termed the rage. Every boy in 
the street was whistling snatches of its lively airs, 
while at all the concerts and balls, the bands 
drew largely upon its brilliant overture, and played 
its favorite morceaux. 

The price demanded for admission to the Opera 
Comique is greater than that of the ordinary 
theatres, being seven or eight francs for the most 
select places, whereas the others for the same 
demand but five. 

The Odeon, situated near the Palace of the 
Luxembourg, in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, was 
formerly more frequented by the beau monde, than 
any other theatre in Paris ; but, in proportion as 
the wealth and fashion of the Capital deserted this 
vieux quartier de la ville, for the Boulevard and 
the Chaussee d'Antin, did the Odeon gradually 
decline from its high estate, until it became nearly 
out of date. 

This large theatre is now closed the greater 
part of the time. Performances were, for a period, 
exhibited there by the company of the Porte St. 



TRENCH FONDNESS FOR THEATRICALS. 279 

Martin, but the speculation failed of success. One 
would suppose that the students alone, who are 
said to abound in Paris to the number of ten 
thousand, would be sufficient to fill it nightly ; 
but the Odeon is no longer a fashionable resort, 
and people will not go where it is not the mode. 
The site of the theatre is good ; standing as it 
does, isolated, in the centre of a square. Its style 
of architecture, however, and general appearance 
from without, are too heavy and sombre for a 
temple devoted to the Muses ; and within, although 
the salle is spacious and well constructed, there is 
but little of that airy elegance or grace, which it 
would seem should ever cling around such a spot. 

Before quitting the subject of theatres, I must 
advert to the extreme fondness, which the French 
(particularly the middling and lower classes of 
society) entertain for theatrical exhibitions. The 
giisette, with nought but the light cap to defend 
her head from the inclemencies of wind and 
weather, and possessing but the trifling pittance of 
her thirty sous per day, would expend those thirty 
sous for a glance at some favorite spectacle. 

It is this prevailing taste, which must account 
for the fact, that Paris, with a population not ex- 
ceeding the moiety of that which swarms in the 
British metropolis, supports more than double the 
number of theatres, and yet the system of starring 
is comparatively unknown in the capital of France. 
What the minor theatres are to the lower classes, 
the Opera is to the beau monde, — one of the ne- 
cessaries of life. A loge, or seat, at the Opera, 



280 PARIS. 

seems as much an indispensable to the man of wealth 
and taste, in Paris, as the handsome equipage, in 
which he rolls away the careless hour, or the well- 
furnished hotel of his residence. 

In the French capital, a taste for Music, as 
well as her sister fine arts, appears to spring, 
gushing and spontaneous, from the warm and sus- 
ceptible temperament of the people. In the cap- 
ital of England, it seems forced and struggling for 
the frail tenure of its very existence, amid the 
stern prevailing pursuits that environ it. At Paris, 
it appears to flourish, bright and full of life, upon 
a natal soil. In London, it is the rare exotic ; — 
but the latter city is, at least, fortunate in posses- 
sing the golden means to encourage and maintain 
such an expensive hot-house growth. I shall now 
put a period to my lengthened remarks on the 
dramatic amusements of the French metropolis, 
and bid a final adieu to the theatres of Paris. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Parisian Cafes. — Hotels. — Manner of Living. — La Vie en Garcon. 

— Breakfasting Houses. — The Cafe Veron. — The Cafe d'Orleans. 

— Remarks on Cafes. — Cafe Tortoni. — Its Ices and Liqueurs. — 
The Cafe Anglais. — The Count. — Portrait of an Eccentric Gen- 
tleman. — Breakfasts. — The. Cafe Estaminet — Billiards. — Eu- 
gine. — Glance at the Restaurants. — The Rocher de Cancale. — 
Very's Restaurant. — The Viandes. — Details of a Parisian Dinner. 

— The Frencli Volaille. — Wines. 

The Cafes and Restaurants of Paris form one 
of the most remarkable features of the city. They 
are exceedingly numerous and elegant. At first 
sight, the stranger would deem it impossible, that 
so vast a number could receive any thing like an 
adequate support ; but a brief stay in the Capital, 
and the information it will bring with it of the 
manners and customs of the Parisians, must speed- 
ily convince him to the contrary. 

The hotels in Paris are widely dissimilar from 
those of England, or our own country. A visiter 
arrives in the metropolis, selects his hotel, and 
engages his room by the day or month. He is 
not necessarily expected to take his meals in the 
house ; that is entirely at his option. If he break- 
fasts or dines at his hotel, charges are made for 
each individual time ; if not, he pays but for his 
apartment. Frequently, the restaurant is quite a 
separate branch from the hotel it supplies, and their 
36 



282 paris. 

accounts are sent you separately, as is the case 
with the Hotel ties Princes. 

The more usual way for one new to Paris, and 
consequently desirous of seeing all that is to be 
seen, is to take rooms at an hotel, or maison 
meublee, and obtain his meals at the various cafes 
or restaurants, as fancy may dictate. What is 
there termed " la vie en garcon" is the most un- 
shackled mode of life possible, and one to which 
the Frenchman is extremely partial. Any of the 
numerous maisons garnies will furnish him lodg- 
ings at a reasonable rate. Nothing is known, 
asked, or required, save the forthcoming of the 
monthly stipend, that discharges all obligation. 

The gargon, if his means counsel him economy, 
takes his simple dejeuner of coffee and a roll, for 
twelve or fifteen sous, and dines well enough on 
three dishes and half a bottle of wine, for double 
that sum at the " restaurant a trente sous." If, 
on the contrary, income and inclination advise him 
to more extended epicureanism, the luxury of a 
dejeuner a la fourchelte, with the columns of the 
" Moniteur " or " Journal des Debats," will claim 
an hour or two of his mornings. 

From this mode of life, practised by an immense 
proportion of the Parisians, it is that, the cafes and 
restaurants, seemingly so redundant in number, 
derive an adequate, and, indeed, an ample support. 
The most elegant breakfasting-houses in Paris 
are, in my opinion, the Cafe Veron, on the Boule- 
vard, and the Cafe d'Orleans, in the Passage 
d'Orleans of the Palais Royal. The first of these 



REMARKS ON THE CAFES. 283 

possesses a most eligible and central situation. Its 
various doors open on three sides, upon the Rue 
Vivienne, the Boulevard, and the Passage Pano- 
rama. 

Enter the cafe, and you are struck with its 
richness and beauty. The entire apartment is 
brilliant with costly mirrors, and the walls and 
ceiling are tastefully decorated with rich fancy- 
work, intermingled with well-executed designs, 
in keeping with the character of the place. 

The Cafe Veron is a favorite breakfasting-house 
with the English and Americans, particularly the 
latter. Every thing is served up here in the neat- 
est style ; there is something attractive in the 
appearance of the very garcon, with his becom- 
ing jacket of blue cloth, and the snowy length 
of his spotless apron, descending to the feet. 
There is, I say, a something of attractive in the 
exterior of this important personage, as, in answer 
to your call for cafe au lait, he glides noiselessly 
to your table. A ponderous vessel employs either 
hand. From one of these he pours the aromatic 
liquor into the snowy porcelain, — from the other, 
he tempers its strength to the just degree. The 
coffee and milk are mingled, in nearly equal quan- 
tities, to form the delicious beverage that is send- 
ing upward its fragrant odor before you. 

The Cafe d'Orleans is not inferior, in size or 
richness of decoration, to the one we have just 
been describing, and both are managed upon the 
same principle. 

These cafes are licensed to accommodate their 



284 paris. 

patrons with simple breakfasts, such as tea, coffee, 
rolls, &c, and the more various dejeuner a la 
fourchette, which, in fact, differs but in the name 
from our dinners. They possess not, however, 
the high privilege accorded only to the restaurants, 
of exhibiting that triumph of gastronomy, a true 
French diner. The better class of cafes are ever 
well stocked with wines and liqueurs; but, setting 
aside the staples of coffee and tea, the more le- 
gitimate drinks at these resorts are limonade, 
groseille, orgeat, and the bavaroise. During the 
season of summer, the cafes derive great profit 
from the sale of ices, in all their Protean forms, 
from the mild and soothing vanille, to the anoma- 
lous ponche a la Romaine. 

While on the subject of ices, I must not forget 
Tortoni. Everybody has heard of Tortoni ; his 
name lives in the storied page, as well as in the 
palates of his grateful countrymen. 

The original Tortoni is no more ; his ashes have 
long since been blended with their parent dust; 
but he has left to posterity the legacy of his name, 
and that can never die. Tortoni's is the head- 
quarters of the ice, and its antipodes, the liqueur. 
Nowhere is the maraschino more beautifully limpid, 
or the sunny eau de vie de Dantzic more glitter- 
ing in its golden suspension, than with him ; but it 
is the ice, which has more particularly established 
his undying renown. 

I cannot forget how delightful it was, of a warm 
summer's eve, when all Paris seemed pouring 
along the thronged Boulevard, — to steal from 



TORTONI. — THE CAFE ANGLAIS. 285 

the animated scene, and while away the careless 
hour at Tortoni's. 

Entering the cafe, you ascend the staircase, that 
conducts to the principal saloon. There, seating 
yourself by an open window, you hail the waiter 
with, — " Garcon, donnez-moi la carte des glaces." 
The well-furnished carte is brought ; there are 
vanille, fraise, framboise, pistache, and every other 
ice, which hath a name. You make your selec- 
tion, and straight appears the object of your 
choice, in the graceful pyramid of red, green, or 
white ; or, if such be your fancy, an admixture of 
the three. There you sit, and sip the melting 
pleasure. The gay saloon is, perhaps, filled with 
well-dressed personages, intent, upon the same 
agreeable occupation with yourself; the hum of 
merriment and life, from the busy scene below, 
falls pleasantly on the ear; the balmy breathing 
of the air invites the steeped senses to sweet 
oblivion. 

Oh ! Souvenirs de Paris ! que vous etes de- 
licieux ! 

In adverting to the leading cafes of Paris, I must 
not neglect to mention one, which, though modest 
and unobtrusive, in its appearance, is yet much 
celebrated for its substantial comforts and ex- 
cellent cuisine, — I mean the Cafe Anglais. This 
establishment, which unites the cafe and the res- 
taurant, has but little gaud or glitter to recom- 
mend it. The only ornament it possesses, is the 
indispensable mirror, which, in Paris, may be 
reckoned among the necessaries of life; — but I 



r* 



286 paris. 

look upon it as the best breakfasting-house in 
the city. Nowhere are the peculiar excellences 
of the dejeuner a la fourchcttc more happily dis- 
played, than at the Cafe Anglais. You may call 
for a bif-teck aux pommes de terre, or rognons a 
la brochette, or the modest coutelette a la jardi- 
niere, and all will be served up (to avail ourselves 
of a convenient Gallicism) in a manner that leaves 
nothing to desire. The wines, also, at this cafe, 
are noted for their excellent quality. 

The Cafe Anglais enjoys — the surest mark of 
excellence — an extensive patronage from the true 
connoisseurs of gastronomy, who are willing to 
forego the glitter, in possessing the substance. 

Every one, who resided any time in Paris 
during the years 1855, 1836, will recollect among 
the habitues of this establishment, a gentleman of 
most singular appearance and eccentric habits. 
He sustained, I believe, the rank of Count, and 
was a gentleman, by education as well as birth. 
He conversed fluently in several languages, speak- 
ing English particularly well. He had travelled 
over almost every portion of the civilized world, 
and collected a varied and extensive mass of in- 
formation ; but that sensitive and elegant mind had 
fallen a prey to some master sorrow, that had 
left but its noble wreck. Every one, who has 
seen him, will recognise the portrait. 

He was somewhat advanced in years. His eyes 
were piercing and coal-black ; his face begrimed 
with snuff, which he made use of in large quan- 
tities. The chin, upper lip, and whole contour 



PORTRAIT OF AN ECCENTRIC GENTLEMAN. 287 

of the visage, were clad in a growth of hair, that 
would have put to shame the Bearded Man of 
Versailles. The costume, also, of this unfortunate 
gentleman bore the impress of extreme antiquity 
and indifferent usage. 

If you chanced to enter the cafe at a late hour 
of the morning, you were sure of finding the Count 
seated at a table, in the further apartment, with at 
least five or six cups of coffee before him, engaged 
in writing, or in conversation. Here he would re- 
main for hours, until the day was well advanced. 
In the evening, he was almost invariably to be 
seen at the Porte St. Martin ; and, after the the- 
atre was closed, he always returned to the Cafe 
Anglais, and remained there until three or four 
o'clock in the morning. 

One evening, at the Odeon, when that theatre 
was temporarily opened by the director of the 
Porte St. Martin, at the conclusion of an act, a 
gentleman stepped out of the avant-scene (pro- 
scenium), and quietly remarking to the audience, 
" Messieurs, je vous prie pardon, mais c'est un 
pari" marched across the stage, and entered 
the body of the house by the opposite loge. It 
was the Count. The spectators, who were prin- 
cipally students, hailed the feat as a capital joke, 
and honored it with several hearty rounds of ap- 
plause. 

Yet, with all his eccentricities, was the Count 
an agreeable and an interesting man. With our 
little coterie of Americans, who had nought to do, 
in Paris, but ring the changes on the dolce far 



288 paris. 

niente, he speedily became quite a favorite ; and 
we seldom met him, over his coffee, or at the 
spectacle, without exchanging the phrase of civility 
and kindness ; and it is rather for the sake of 
recalling the image of their old friend, to the 
memory of those, who knew him at the same 
period with myself, than for any other purpose, 
that I have been led into a digression, the unin- 
teresting nature of which, I can only hope, that the 
general reader, in consideration of its brevity, will 
courteously pass over and excuse. 

I have said that the Cafe Anglais is unsurpassed 
in the happy combinations of its dejeuner a la 
fourchette. The hour of taking this important 
meal cannot be strictly assigned ; it varies with 
the varying temperament of its votaries. The 
earliest legitimate point of time is nine o'clock, 
and the latest, three. The mean between these 
hours is the most common ; but the cafes are 
always prepared to serve up breakfasts at instant 
notice, between the extremes I have mentioned 
as the lines of legitimate demarcation. Coming 
before the first, you encroach upon the province 
of the broom and dust-cloth ; after the latter, you 
find the garcon abstracted ; his mind is away 
from the subject upon which you are addressing 
him, — it is dwelling on affairs of greater moment. 
Dinner, with its splendid confusion of entrees, 
entremets, and hors-tfauvres, is engrossing his 
sentient powers, and it were your better course 
to leave him alone. 

At the tables (Phote, breakfast is usually served 



THE CAFE ESTAMINET. 289 

up at ten, or half past ten o'clock ; but the bour- 
geois qui lient maison generally delays it until near 
noon, taking merely a cup of coffee upon rising, 
by way of a palliative until the dejeuner. 

At first, I must confess, this practice of break- 
fasting at eleven or twelve o'clock seemed to me 
as conflicting with every correct principle of taste ; 
but, by degrees (so imitative are we), I became 
less and less alive to the unseasonableness of the 
hour, until finally, if I remember me aright, it 
began to appear to me quite comme ilfaut. 

Nearly all the elegant cafes of Paris are con- 
gregated on the Boulevards, more particularly in 
the vicinity of the Rue Richelieu and Rue Vivienne, 
and in the ample enclosure of the Palais Royal. 
The most noted here, beside the Cafe d'Orleans, 
already alluded to, are the Cafes Foy and Corazza. 
The former is much celebrated for the excellence 
of its coffee. 

There is yet another branch of the Parisian cafe, 
that remains to be considered. It is that termed 
estaminet. The most extensive establishment of 
this nature in Paris is on the Boulevard des Italiens, 
in the immediate vicinity of the Italian Opera 
House. The words, in prodigious letters, — 
" Cafe Estaminet a quatre billards au premier," 
convey all the necessary information. You as- 
cend the staircase, and enter the spacious room. 
Immediately on the right of the door, in a large 
case, and secured from accident by an interposition 
of net-work, are seen, marshalled in close order, 
a formidable phalanx of pipes, the property of the 
37 



290 PARIS. 

habitufs ; the atmosphere of the room is cloudy 
enough to irritate the lungs of a Dutchman. The 
staples here, are pipes, beer, and billiard-balls ; a 
trio that confer the distinctive appellation, " Esta- 
minet." 

The French are exceedingly fond of billiards, 
and devote much time to the game. The most 
skilful player I have ever seen, was a young 
Frenchman, named Eugine ; the extraordinary 
calculation and wonderful execution, which his 
jeu ever displayed, could not be considered as 
acquired ; it must have been an unconscious and 
innate talent, as was music to Mozart, or poesy 
to Lord Byron. 

The expense attending billiard-playing, in Paris, 
is but trifling. During the day, a table may be 
taken, by the hour, for twelve or fifteen sous ; at 
night, when the room is lighted, a larger sum is 
demanded. One reason, that may be assigned for 
the moderate expense attending this species of 
amusement in France, is, that there the billiard- 
table is but a department of an extensive establish- 
ment, instead of being, as is frequent with us, the 
entire stock in trade. 

The game is played with three balls, and the 
great object of the player is the carambolagc. In 
holing a ball, the cushion must be first taken ; 
that is, the ball must be doubled, or the party 
does not score. The game, thus refined down, 
becomes a mathematical study. It is really in- 
teresting to watch a first-rate player, — Eugine, 
for example, and observe the wonderful accuracy 



THE RESTAURANTS IN PARIS. 291 

of that judgment, which directs the ball from angle 
to angle, until it meets the object of its seemingly 
sentient search. The spectator regards with sur- 
prise and admiration those brilliant effets de queue, 
which appear in his play, causing the ball, now to 
rebound from the bands in defiance of every legiti- 
mate angle, now to describe those unexpected 
curves that denote the most finished execution and 
correctness of design. 

The Estaminet is, indeed, a singular compound. 
At this table are persons engaged at ecarte ; 
with those assembled around the next, the simpler 
domino is the resource. If it be a pleasant eve- 
ning, and you can abide a half hour, it is probable 
the voice of music will be added to the scene ; but 
look ! the door opens, and there enters a young 
girl, of interesting appearance, the paleness of 
whose cheek tells plainly, that the wandering and 
exposed life of the minstrel accords but ill with the 
delicacy of her frame. Pursuing her steps, appears 
the attendant, with a violin and harp. They 
strike the prelude ; the young girl sings, and ac- 
companies herself on the harp. When the air is 
finished, the man passes round a little tin case, 
into which are dropped the few and scattering 
sous. Such is the picture of a Parisian cafe es- 
taminet. 

Having now satisfied our curiosity by taking 
the rounds of the principal cafes, let us look in, 
with what appetite we may, upon such of the 
restaurants as are most known to fame. 

The most celebrated of these in Paris are 



292 paris. 

Very's, Vefour's, Perigord, and the Trois Freres 
Provencaux, in the Palais Royal, Grignon's, the 
Rocher de Cancale, the Cafe de Paris, and the 
Grand Vatel. Very's and Vefour's are considered 
the most magnificent, though the lofty salons and 
splendid mirrors of the Cafe de Paris might, in 
the estimation of some, dispute such precedence. 

The Rocher de Cancale enjoys much celebrity, 
from the superior excellence of its poissonerie, 
and more particularly its oysters, &c, whence the 
name it has assumed, — Rocher de Cancale* 
There is but little external elegance or style about 
this establishment. The Rocher is an excellent 
house for a diner en societe. You should bespeak 
the dinner beforehand, and, upon arriving, the 
dishes will be served up at instant notice and in 
admirable style. The cabinet particulier, into 
which you are usually ushered, is neat, though 
not over large. It is pretty well removed from 
the coffee-room, so as to give you full opportunity 
of " ganging your own gait," without annoyance 
to those, who may chance to be below. 

I must confess, one great charm of the Rocher 
is, the perfect laisser oiler of the place. You may 
shut yourself up in your cabinet, and make as 
much noise as liketh you ; and no one says nay, 
or enters with rueful countenance, and a long tale 
about the people in the next room ; par conse- 
quence, for such parties as Pelham so inimitably 
describes, where leaps from mouth to mouth the 

* A rock, of shell-fish celebrity. 



VERY'S, IN THE PALAIS ROYAL 293 

poignant jest, and rosy conviviality holds the 
sceptre, — there is no place like the Rocher. 

Grignon's is celebrated for the excellent quality 
of its Burgundy, the old Chambertin, and Clos de 
Vougeot. The comfortable, Bacchus-like appear- 
ance of the butler, who places it before you, is of 
itself no bad passport in favor of the generous 
wines, whose flowery odor he inspires. 

To my mind, however, Very's is by far the 
most elegant of the Parisian restaurants. Upon 
entering the saloon, you might, at first glance, 
imagine yourself introduced into one of those for- 
merly splendid apartments of the Royal Palace, 
adorned in the style of sumptuous costliness, that 
marked the taste of its builder, the despotic 
Richelieu. 

When the saloon is illuminated, at the hour of 
dinner, a brilliant effect is produced. The nume- 
rous and splendid mirrors, that line the apart- 
ment, upon whose polished surfaces fall the lustre's 
effulgent rays, are reflecting the richly ornamented 
wall and ceiling, at a hundred sparkling angles. 
The well-dressed groups, of both sexes, that fill 
the apartment, attest the fashionable resort. Add 
to this, the happy insouciance, or volatility, if you 
will, that appears inseparable from the French 
character, and, displaying itself even more particu- 
larly on such occasions, seems to surround every 
thing with an atmosphere of mirth. The stranger, 
after taking his first dinner at Very's, will own there 
can be a luxury in satisfying the appetite, which 
your commonplace feeder but little dreams of. 



294 Paris. 

So much for the salon. Now for the viandes, 
and the readiest method to procure them. You 
have entered the room, and given the preparatory 
touch to your chapeau, in compliment to the beaux 
yeux of the dame de comptoir ; the object next in 
course is, to secure a seat. Glancing the eye 
around, you at length espy a table unengaged, 
and forthwith seat yourself thereat ; ensuite the 
garcon approaches with the carte du restaurant; 
and what a carte ! Do not imagine, oh courteous 
reader, that it owneth even a remote similitude to 
the meagre bill of fare, adown whose slip of five 
by three, are paraded the perennial fixtures of 
mutton, beef, and pork. The carte we speak of, 
is a printed volume, containing the titles of those 
harmonious compositions and chefs-d'wuvre, that 
have conferred a gastronomic immortality upon 
the genius of a Ude, and upon his illustrious 
fraternity. 

You open the tome, and the introductory potage 
(welcome precursor of better things), in all its 
extended ramifications, first claims the attention. 
Puree aux croutons, Lait d'amandes, Crecy, Tortue, 
Jidicn, — all are there, to invite a selection. This 
over, another page opens to the view, les entrees de 
poisson. Here the work grows complicated ; the 
mind, pleased with all, wavers between the piquant 
charms of the escalope de saumon, and the milder 
graces of the laitance de carpe. The eye glances 
doubtingly over the soft names of turbot a la 
Hollandaise and a la crcme, and, scarcely less 
dear to the epicure, of the inestimable sole au natu- 



THE FRENCH VOLA1LLE. 295 

rel or en mateluttc JYormande ; but proceed with 
the work until the eye rests on the section entitled 
entrees de volatile. It is now you become fully 
aware of what a hvdra-headed thing is the French 
cuisine. This single item, volatile, appears in 
more than fifty divers guises, some of them rather 
questionable, (poulct a la diable, for instance,) 
from the simple poulet roti, or farci aux truffes, 
to the snowy delicacy of the supreme. 

The French volaille should not be deserted 
without a passing word of grateful panegyric. It 
is emphatically sui generis, and cannot be found 
elsewhere in such rare perfection ; — no doubt this 
is to be attributed to the regime, for it is education 
makes the fowl, as well as the nobler creature that 
devours him. Is it not contrary to every suggestion 
of reason, to suppose, that our tables can be sup- 
plied with well-favored poultry, when these very 
creatures until, perchance, within a half day of 
their final appearance upon the festive board, have 
been frisking away their existence, unheeded and 
uncared for, so that, by dint of constant exercise, 
the original delicate fibre becomes converted into 
that iron thew that doth so task the teeth ? 

In France a different course is observed. The 
poultry is doubtless taken excellent care of; at all 
events, the entire genus is kept sedulously out of 
sight, for I do not remember me of having seen a 
solitary specimen, in whom the vital spark was not 
extinct, during my protracted stay in the kingdom. 

The education of the bird, I should suppose, (if 
it be permitted me to offer an hypothesis, which is 



296 paris. 

based on no stronger premises than the undeniable 
delicacy of the creature in question, and the pecu- 
liar satisfaction it is capable of communicating to 
the palate,) must be conducted in such a manner, 
as, were there any thing sentient in its compound, 
could not fail to bestow upon it an earnest of that 
important station in the animal economy which it 
is hereafter destined to fill in a manner so creditable 
to itself. 

But to return to the carte. You are now sup- 
posed to have waded through the long catalogue 
of entrees, entremets, hors-d'oeuvres, &c, until in 
course you come to the wines. But a propos of 
the wines, — it were better to inform yourself on 
that subject previously ; for the first question the 
garcon addresses you, after bringing the plate and 
bread is, " Monsieur, quel vin desirez-vous ? ' It 
never crosses his mind to inquire whether you take 
wine at all ; — he considers that a thing of course, 
and would not insult you by proposing the query. 

You glance over the list ; there is the whole fam- 
ily of Burgundy, with that of Bordeaux, amounting 
to some scores, not to mention the golden Rhenish 
or sparkling Champagne. If you are an epicure, 
and dine on ortolans, I should recommend you the 
Chateau Lafitte or Romanee ; if not, I would ven- 
ture to say, that a bottle of St. Julien or Volnay 
may well suit your purpose. The French regard 
Champagne rather as a supper than a dinner wine, 
or, if it appear at the latter meal, it is generally to 
bring up the rear, and, like a forlorn hope, protect 
that which has gone before ; for, in France, Cham- 



DETAILS OF A DINNER. 297 

pagne is looked upon as a more powerful wine than 
either Bordeaux or Burgundy. 

The business of the drama is now over, and by 
way of epilogue, you toss off a demi-tasse of cafe 
noir, with its accompanying petit verre de liqueur, 
which has been appositely termed chasse-cafe, from 
the peculiar rapidity it usually exhibits in follow- 
ing that aromatic beverage. The boule and cure- 
dents are now presented you, and all is settled 
save the bill. " Garron, la note! " —the garcon sig- 
nifies your wish to the fair dame who presides, and 
straight is brought you the account upon a little 
slip of paper. Each item is particularized, and 
mistakes but very rarely occur. You pay the 
amount, throw a franc or two on the table for the 
garcon, exchange a parting nod with the dame de 
comptoir, and emerge into the open air. 

Such are the details of a Parisian dinner ; a sin- 
gle instance will suffice to characterize the whole. 
And now we will turn from a consideration of the 
places that furnish the wherewithal to sustain the 
body, and dwell, if I may borrow a metaphor from 
the foregoing, upon that genre of cafe and restau- 
rant, where are stored the dishes that administer a 
nobler aliment to the immortal mind. 



38 



CHAPTER XXII. 

Paris favorable to Literary Men. — The Royal Library. — Auto- 
graphs. — Reflections. — Literary Facilities for Strangers. — French 
Memoires. — The Novel. — Victor Hugo. — Portrait of M. Balzac. — 
Paul de Kock. — His Novels. — The Difficulty of Translating them. 
— The Drama. — Casimir De la Vigne. — M. Scribe. — The Vaude- 
ville. — Concerts of Instrumental Music in the Open Ah - . — Re- 
marks 011 them. — Fondness of the French for Pleasure. — Con- 
certs at the Champs Elysees d'Hiver. — Musard's Concerts. 

I have said, in a former portion of this volume, 
that the capital of France is, as a residence, pecu- 
liarly favorable to the literary man. The policy of 
the French government, on the subject of letters, is 
free and enlightened, removing, as far as may be, 
impediments from the abstruse paths of Science, 
and conferring honor and patronage upon those who 
successfully tread them. 

The Bibliotheque Royale in Paris is, undoubted- 
ly, at the present era, the best endowed library in 
Christendom, containing, as is said, more than six 
hundred thousand printed volumes and eighty 
thousand manuscripts. This immense repository 
of learning stands in the Rue Richelieu, and ex- 
tends its sombre length at least a quarter part of 
that avenue. The exhibition of his passport will 
entitle the stranger to admittance, and he may 
roam at his leisure through the wide halls of va- 
ried science. 

Interesting as the Bibliotheque Royale must ever 
be, from its prodigious extent, and many thousand 



THE B1BLIOTHEQUE ROY ALE. 299 

tomes, it is yet more so by reason of the memorials 
it has preserved in grateful recollection of those 
celebrated men, whose talents and genius have 
so eminently enriched it. There are autograph 
letters of Voltaire, Rousseau, D'Alembert, Diderot, 
and of others, whose names are more deeply wrap- 
ped in the mantle of antiquity. 

There is a curious feeling, and difficult of analy- 
sis, that comes over the mind, as dwells the eye 
upon those palpable characters, traced by men 
whose deathless conceptions did, in their own day, 
surround them with the bright halo of glory, and 
have descended to us sanctioned by the irrefutable 
touchstone of Time, as in letters of thrice purified 
gold. There is to me, in the view of these simple 
characters, a something of magic, that annihilates 
the wide field of distance existent heretofore be- 
tween the sublime author, and the reader, who has 
drunk in delight and instruction from his richly 
stored page. From the immediate effect, I revert 
to the immediate cause ; — before me is the auto- 
graph, pale under the effacing influence of time ; my 
imagination conjures up a vision of him, whose ma- 
terial hand once traced it. I can see the daring 
author of " Mahomet," or him, the more eloquent 
" apostle of affection," whose life was poisoned by 
the suffering that ever results from excess of sensi- 
bility, — a suffering which his own impassioned pages 
have so feelingly portrayed ; they are gone, all, and 
years since, like commoner clay, has the material 
resolved itself to its original elements. But what 
remains? To live, — to suffer, — were indeed but 
a poor boon, and then to die and be forgotten ; — 






300 PARIS. 

but happily it is not always thus. Secure in its 
enduring monuments, the mighty majesty of mind 
will ever assert its supremacy, and it is the con- 
sciousness of this which sustains the child of gen- 
ius through every ill that existence is heir to, and 
renders even that existence a blessing. Of what 
little import then should appear to the rational 
man, the mere well-being of the physical, that 
shall endure but a brief space, in comparison with 
the constant culture and exercise of that divine ema- 
nation, that employs its present energies, and may, 
when ages shall have rolled by, be yet exerting its 
influence for good or for evil. The material is but 
the subordinate, the slave. We seem to forget that 
it is the mind, — the mind, with its fearful energies, 
unconscious of bound or limit, which constitutes 
that mysterious being — ourself. 

I have said that the policy of the French, as 
regards their literary institutions, was open and 
enlightened, and thus it undeniably is. A stranger, 
known to be engaged in any literary undertaking, 
would experience no difficulty in obtaining access, 
free of cost, to the invaluable stores of learning 
concentrated in the Bibliotheque Royale ; and not 
only here, but the same remark will hold true with 
reference to all the scientific resorts in which the 
capital abounds. 

The most extensive libraries, whose contents may 
be at the strangers' disposal, for a trifling subscrip- 
tion per month, are first, that of Messrs. Gali- 
gnani, editors of the widely diffused journal, call- 
ed "Galignani's Messenger"; and second, one just 



LITERARY FACILITIES FOR STRANGERS. 301 

out of the Rue de la Paix, which possesses an ex- 
tensive collection of works in both the French and 
English languages. 

At Galignani's reading-room, adjoining his libra- 
ry, in the Rue Vivienne, you find the principal Lon- 
don journals and other leading periodicals, with all 
the Paris papers, and those, generally, of the Con- 
tinent, that possess a reputation. The American 
reader may chance, too, to fall upon a file of New 
York prints ; but these are kept rather out of the 
way ; for Messrs. Galignani seem somewhat to un- 
dervalue our Republican politics. 

A French circulating library contains much 
more material to amuse (if not instruct), than do 
our own or those of England. There is one genre 
of composition in which they abound, that with us 
is very rare ; — I refer to the memoires, those pi- 
quant confessions of personages in power, which, 
besides being extremely edifying from their candor 
and naivete, are not a little interesting from the 
light they throw upon the general state of society, 
amid which the writers flourished. Of this nature 
are, more particularly, the memoirs written during 
the long reigns of Louis the Fourteenth and Fif- 
teenth ; the most amusing of these are, " Les Me- 
moires de Madame la Marquise de Pompadour," 
" de la Duchesse de Barri," " du Due du Riche- 
lieu," and "Les Chroniques de l'OEil de Bceuf," 
continued through a succession of several reigns. 
None of them, I believe, have been translated ; 
they are certainly very entertaining in their own 
soft tongue, but 1 doubt whether they would sus- 
tain the difficult test of an English version. 



302 PARIS. 

From the libraries we pass, by an easy transition, 
to a consideration of that light species of literature 
which forms the most popular portion of their con- 
tents. First, let us glance at the novel. The most 
popular writers in this kind of composition are the 
Chevalier Paul de Kock, Victor Hugo, and Balzac. 

The reputation of Victor Hugo, as a novelist, 
rests upon his celebrated work, entitled " Notre 
Dame de Paris," a romance that made its success- 
ful author the darling of the enthusiastic Parisians. 
The work has been translated into English ; it has 
also been dramatized ; and I recollect having seen 
it performed, with considerable success, at Covent 
Garden Theatre. 

M. Balzac is the author of " Le Pere Goriot," 
and other works of less note. During my frequent 
visits to the Academie Royale de Musique, I sel- 
dom failed to observe, seated in the avant-schie, a 
gentleman of very eccentric appearance. He al- 
ways wore a blue coat closely buttoned to the 
throat ; his black hair, long and straight as that of 
an Indian, descended in masses upon his back and 
shoulders. He was in the prime of life, with a 
figure a little below the medium height, but mak- 
ing ample amends for a deficiency in longitude 
by the redundance of its latitudinary dimensions. 
The features of the countenance surmounting this 
figure were laughing and good-humored ; but cer- 
tainly displaying nought to mark a preponderance 
of the spiritual over the grosser matter. This was 
M. Balzac. 

Of all the French novel-writers of the present 



PAUL DE KOCK.-THK FRENCH NOVEL. 303 

day, M. Paul de Kock is by far the most prolific, 
and perhaps the most popular. Several of his pro- 
ductions have appeared in English dress, but the 
translators have been unable to do justice to that 
piquant style and exuberance of local humor, that 
form the strongest features of the original. His 
novels are, " Frere Jaques," " Georgette," " Le 
Cocu," " Jean," " L' Amant, le Mari et la Femme," 
and " La Pucelle de Belleville." Of these " Jean" 
has been freely translated, under the title of " The 
Modern Cymon," and another version from the 
Chevalier, entitled " The Good Fellow," has 
lately been seen in our circulating libraries ; but, 
as I observed above, they give but a faint idea of 
the point and wit that run through the original. 
No man, whose personal experience has not made 
him well acquainted with life in Paris, can trans- 
late felicitously the novels of Paul de Kock. So 
interwoven are they with the varied incidents of 
the Metropolitan routine ; nay, so redolent are they 
of the very atmosphere of Paris, that, unless one 
has undergone the initiatory process of breathing 
that atmosphere a while, it is in vain (however 
perfect the knowledge of grammar) to attempt a 
spirited copy of the original. The colors fall on 
the canvass with a leaden, lifeless hue, and the 
artist strives, without success, to infuse into his 
picture that vitality of conception, which is but 
imperfectly imaged upon the mirror of his own 
mind. 

Another serious obstacle to the translator, and 
it may be mentioned without affectation of prudery, 



304 PARIS. 

is, the hazard of rendering those strokes of wit, 
which are well enough in the slippery French, into 
our own matter-of-fact tongue. The double enten- 
dre that would but excite the general laugh in 
France, might resound with far less happy effect 
amid our more scrupulous circles. 

Owing to this combination of difficulty and re- 
straint, the reader, who is not familiar enough with 
the language to relish the original, will obtain from 
the version but a very imperfect idea of what man- 
ner of thing it is, — the legitimate French Novel. 

From the romance let us turn to another species 
of composition, — that appertaining to the Drama. 
The two most celebrated dramatists in France at 
the present day, are M. Casimir De la Vigne and 
M. Scribe. The former deals in that long, heroic 
genre, that delights the habitues of the Comedie 
Francaise ; the second is the most prolific and 
successful vaudevilliste of his time. Nor is the 
muse of M. Scribe circumscribed within the limits 
of the vaudeville. Is a grand opera produced ? 
la musique may be by Auber, Mayerbeer, Hale- 
vy ; but you are pretty sure of rinding les paroles 
by Scribe. I should think, that one half, or two 
thirds, even of the successful petites comedies, now 
performing in Paris, are from the indefatigable pen 
of this author. The yearly income he realizes 
from them is very large. 

The pieces of M. Scribe are represented princi- 
pally at the Gijmnase and the Vaudeville, and also 
at the Gaiete and Varictcs. Several of the comc- 
diette, that from time to time appear upon our 



THE VAUDEVILLE. — INSTRUMENTAL CONCERTS. 305 

stage, are borrowed from Scribe. They are trans- 
lated by the English play-wrights, with certain 
modifications to suit the particular temperament 
of the people, and after a while find their way to 
our theatres. 

There is nothing in our own dramatic literature, 
or rather in that of England, that corresponds to the 
French vaudeville. This genre of composition is 
remarkable for its naive legerete, and the spirituelle 
nature of its dialogue. It is interspersed with 
musical morceaux, which are not introduced vaguely 
and without design, or merely for the purpose of 
displaying to advantage the actor's vocal talent ; 
they are part and parcel of the play, and serve to 
continue on the meaning of the author, while they 
delight the ear by their pleasing variety of sweet 
sounds. 

In adverting to the theatres and the opera, I 
have neglected to make mention of another class of 
exhibitions which is likewise very popular in the 
French capital. I allude to the Concerts of in- 
strumental music. Vocal concerts take place but 
very rarely in Paris ; indeed I recollect of having 
attended but one, which was given under the au- 
spices of Mademoiselle Grisi and the Italian corps. 
During the belle saison these instrumental concerts 
are given under the starry canopy in the Champs 
Elysees, and the Jardin Turc. 

In our changeful clime and beneath our weeping 
skies, the experiment of such nightly assemblages 
in the open air might be somewhat hazardous ; and 
39 



306 PARIS, 

in the midst of a fine overture, we should not 
unfrequently be put to flight try the descendent 
shower ; but, under the beau del of France, the 
skies are more faithful to their promise, and the 
belle soiree rarely fails to be the precursor of the 
bright and cloudless night. Undismayed by the 
fear of watery intrusion, or the insidious catarrh, of 
an agreeable evening, an elegant and fashionable 
assemblage is sure to be present at the musical 
rendezvous. A full and effective band gives, with 
admirable effect, the favorite morceaux of the reign- 
ing Operas. Alternately the crashing overture, the 
lively galoppade, or voluptuous waltz, with noisy 
harmony rend the still air. 

For admission to the immediate area, in the 
centre of which stands the pavilion for the or- 
chestra, one franc is demanded. Those economists 
who listen without the pale of good society pay 
nothing, and of course constitute a large portion of 
the audience. It is pleasant, after having drunk in 
awhile the sweet breath of the music, to saunter 
forth amid the groves of the Champs Elysees, and 
watch the people engaged at their various sports ; 
for the Champs Elysees are, as I have before 
said, the grand pleasure-grounds of Paris. 

I remember well the first evening I attended one 
of these concerts ; it was a lovely evening in June. 
The radiant empress of night, and the bright con- 
clave of her starry train, were shedding their mild 
lustre over the roofs and towers of the great city. 
In Paris, of all other places, it seems almost im- 



CONCERTS IN THE CHAMPS ELYSEES 307 

pious to lose such precious hours. Invited by that 
delicious softness of the air, that makes the mere 
act of breathing a pleasure, I strolled along the 
lengthened avenue which conducts to the Champs 
Elysees ; the voice of music reached my ear ; I 
accelerated my steps, and soon reached the spot 
whence the harmony proceeded ; I entered the area 
and seated myself. The tout ensemble of the view 
(novel as it must be to the American, who, for the 
first time has but just landed on a foreign shore,) 
appeared to me as peculiarly striking and beau- 
tiful. The groups of fair women rendered yet 
more fair by the love-lighting rays of the silvery 
moon ; the strains of music, that, blending with 
the pure and balmy air, seemed to fall with magic 
influence on the ear, — oh ! there is a high excite- 
ment thrills through the senses from materials 
like these, that words but faintly picture ; and then, 
too, the perfect consonance and accord, that dwell 
upon every thing around. What is it in these fair 
scenes of amusement and pleasure, that warms 
the heart of the spectator, and inclines him to a 
full participation ? It is, I conceive, the open, un- 
disguised sincerity of that gaiete, that springs gush- 
ing and spontaneous from the heart. There is 
nothing there visible of that cold calculation, which, 
in some other climes, enters amid the very sports ; 
there is no chilling distinction between the patron 
and the patronized ; all seemed determined to be 
pleased, and each component part happily mingles 
to form the harmonious ensemble. The pleasures 



308 PARIS. 

of the French seem to be a part of themselves, as 
much as their moral and physical faculties ; they 
are not the forced growth of imaginations, arti- 
ficially and unduly stimulated, nor the perverted 
offspring of distorted systems of education. Happy 
the nation that can at times unbend ! As the 
exuberant glee of innocent childhood more fits the 
elastic mind to overcome the recurring daily task, 
so is it with the man ; — so is it with the assem- 
blage of men ; — and we may be sure, that a 
nation, where joy and smiling mirth hold occasional 
undisputed sway ; a nation, the spirit of whose 
constitution has provided for the necessary relaxa- 
tion of the mind, by setting apart seasons for 
general rejoicing, is capable of attaining the noblest 
results in Science, and the most glorious achieve- 
ments in Action. 

From these rather digressional remarks, I re- 
turn to the subject which induced them. When 
the season becomes too inclement for the out-of- 
door's music, the concerts are given in a gorgeous 
saloon, termed " Champs .Elysees d'Hiver," in the 
Rue Lafitte, next the princely hotel of the Baron 
Rothschild. This saloon is by far the most splen- 
did concert-room I ever beheld. On extraordinary 
occasions it is made use of for balls and reunions. 
At such times, it is most brilliantly adorned and 
illuminated. It is supposed this splendid hall will 
easily contain three thousand persons. 

Besides the concerts of the Champs Elysees, 
there are those donnes chez Musard in the Rue St. 



CONCERTS AT MUSARD'S. 309 

Honore, just out of the Rue de la Paix. Musard's 
concerts are on the same extensive scale with those 
of the Champs Elysees d'Hiver ; the same prix 
(Pentree is demanded ; and the establishments are 
rival aspirants for public favor. Both however are 
very well sustained. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Carnival. — The Masked Ball. — Crowds ou the Boulevards. — 
Foreign Prejudices respecting the French. — Their Personal Ap- 
pearance. — Dress. — The Parisian Elegant. — The Bourgeois. — 
National Guard. — Troops of the Line. — The Parisian Character. 
— Love of Glory and Pleasure. — Sense of Honor. — Selfishness. — 
The Female Sex. — Then- Due. — Their Personal Appearance. — 
American and European Beauty. — American Beauty in Paris. — 
Moral Atmosphere of Paris. — Remark from Bulwer. — Girlhood 
in the Higher Classes of Society. — Marriages. — Married Life. — 
Morality of the Lower Orders. — Wretchedness and Crime in 
European Cities. — Ignorance. — Divorces. — Genius of the French 
Language respecting Love. — Bad Tendency of the Catholic Re- 
ligion. — Reflections on Protestant America. 

I have now touched upon all the more promi- 
nent sources of public amusement in Paris, with 
the exception of those particularly connected with 
the Carnival. At the head of all the extrava- 
gances of this gay season, — stands confessedly 
the " bal masque." The balls are given at nearly 
all the theatres, the opera houses, and at Musard's. 
Those at the Academie Royale are much the most 
distinguished and select. The price here demand- 
ed for admission is ten francs, — at the others but 
five ; there is no dancing at the rtunions of the 
Academie Royale. The ladies are all enveloped in 
black dominos, their pretty features concealed by 
the black and envious mask ; save when, more love- 
ly by contrast from the circumambient blackness, 
peeps forth the rounded chin, like the white disc 



THE MASKED BALL. 31 1 

of the silvery moon, just commencing to emerge 
from the dark bosom of a thunder-cloud. The 
cavaliers are usually dressed in the height of the 
fashion, and all bespeaks the presence of the bon 
ton. 

The masked balls at the Opera are much more 
agreeable to the Parisian than to the stranger, for 
reasons that it is unnecessary to assign, and which 
the enlightened reader will not fail to perceive. 
The principal place of promenade is the saloon, 
which is tastefully decorated with evergreens, and 
rich with splendid mirrors. The salle is brilliantly 
illuminated ; a flooring is thrown over the parterre, 
connecting it with the stage, and thus forming an 
extensive promenade. 

At the commencement of the reunion there are 
usually exhibitions on the stage, such as a favorite 
dance by the artistes, or feats of strength and agil- 
ity by the troupe of the Cirque Ohjmpique (Fran- 
coni.) These over, the company are left to amuse 
themselves, and this they appear to succeed well 
enough in doing. The promenading in the saloon 
continues until a late, I should say an early, hour of 
the day ; the gentlemen are gallant and empresses, 
— the masks are amiable, eccigeantes, or provoking- 
ly mysterious, as caprice may dictate. In fact, 
they have the game in their own hands, and can 
play the cards as they like. The whole style of 
the thing is a PJtalien, and very popular, as might 
be supposed, in a country where custom and clime 
incite to intrigue. 

The " bal masque," as it appears in the other 



312 PARIS. 

theatres of the metropolis, is of a nature far less 
refined than at the Opera. The hour for the 
ball to commence is midnight. The men are 
admitted in every description of fancy dress, but 
are not suffered to go masked ; the women are 
masked or unmasked, as they fancy, and their cos- 
tumes are of all imaginable descriptions, and some 
not a little bizarres. The dancing is sustained with 
ceaseless and unremitting ardor ; the laisser aller 
is at its height ; a gaiete folatre seems to bear every 
thing on in its resistless stream. 

To a spectator from the deuxiemes loges, the 
scene below wears a singular and not uninteresting 
aspect. Moving to the strains of music, and cir- 
cling in the rapid figures of the danse, the ani- 
mated mass, like a sea of life, seems to fluctuate 
in ceaseless undulation. It is not until the hour 
of five or six, that a general dispersion of the 
monde takes place. The dancers haste to their 
morning couches, anxious to recruit their exhausted 
spirits, and be en etat for a similar scene on the 
succeeding night. 

The bal masque, however, is but a single feature 
of Parisian gayety. During the bruyante season of 
the Carnival, every thing seems in accordance. 
The entire population deliver themselves up to the 
most extravagant demonstrations of joy and hilar- 
ity. It is only during the three last days of the 
Carnival, that masking is allowed in the streets, 
and then all Paris flocks to the Boulevard ; that 
spacious avenue seems but one confused mass 
of human beings. Through the immense crowd, 



PREJUDICES RESPECTING THE FRENCH. 313 

at slowest pace, threads its way the occasional 
jiacre, filled with revellers masked and fancifully 
costumed. The shouts of these gentry, as they pass 
along, are responded to by the mass, with a will 
that causes the very air to ring with reiterated ac- 
clamations. These three days are the delirious 
crisis of a raging fever, and when they are past, 
all settles down once more into the calm, even flow, 
and the elements of society seem to return to a 
happier and more harmonious adjustment from the 
fierce commotion that had threatened to disorgan- 
ize them. 

Before quitting the subject of Paris and the Pa- 
risians, I must, as is the custom of all travellers, 
devote a page or two to a few remarks upon the 
general appearance, dress, &c, of the people, and 
upon their moral as well as physical condition. 

There is a vulgar idea (unshared, of course, by 
the well-informed), that the French are a nation of 
dancers and music-masters, deficient alike in dignity 
of body and dignity of mind. Their physical parti- 
cles are kept, it is supposed, in attenuated subjec- 
tion, through their soupe maigre and thin potations, 
and the original powers of their minds frittered 
away by a ceaseless attention to the volatile and 
the frivolous. Such is the prevalent idea respect- 
ing the French, among the lower classes of both 
England and America, — an idea, which unques- 
tionably derives its origin from that deep-rooted 
national antipathy, which, fostered by continual 
war, existed for centuries between the rival king- 
doms of England and Fiance ; and the parent 
40 



314 PARIS. 

country has, in a measure, instilled her national pre- 
judices into the minds of her offspring. Let us 
cast a glance at the Frenchman as he actually 
is. In height, collectively as a nation, he yields 
a little to the American ; but his body is if any 
thing more robust, and he apparently enjoys a 
higher degree of health. Dyspepsia, with its 
long train of nervous diseases, is but little known 
in France, and pulmonic complaints exhibit them- 
selves but rarely. Compared with his neighbour 
across the Channel, the disadvantage is on the 
side of the Frenchman, both as regards strength 
and stature. On the score of dress, it must be 
conceded, I think, that the Frenchman is not a 
particularly well-dressed man ; — he appears to 
think that the science of dress in all its elaborate 
details appertains exclusively to the beau sexe. 
There are in Paris no Stultzes, no Nugees. One 
of the most distinguished tailleurs in the French 
capital was some years since well known in the 
metropolis of New England. He enjoys an ex- 
tensive pratique, and, from the courtesy of his 
manners, and his artist-like style, is deservedly a 
favorite, both among his own countrymen, and 
the English residents in Paris. 

I have said, the Frenchman would not be re- 
marked as a well-dressed man. In the Capital 
itself, but little can be discovered of that butter- 
fly species, which corresponds to the full-blown 
dandy of Bond and Regent streets. Yet Paris 
has its elcgans, as the stranger will not fail to 
perceive, if he devote an evening to the Italian 
Opera or to Musards'. The Parisian elegant sports 



THE PARISIAN ELEGANT. 315 

the whisker and moustache. His coat and trow- 
sers are from the skilful hand of Humann or 
Staub ; his hand is encased in the kid chef- 
d'oeuvre of Privat ; while the brilliant boot, that 
encloses either pedal extremity, and just peeps 
from beneath the loose trowsers, attests the ge- 
nius of a Forr. 

The bourgeois of Paris is generally stout and 
well made. The Garde JYationale, which is mostly 
composed of this class, and, in the Capital alone, 
amounts to one hundred thousand men, is a re- 
markably fine corps. 

I have seen about forty thousand of these un- 
der arms with nearly an equal number of the Line. 
The physical difference between these two bodies 
of troops is not a little striking. The Garde JYa- 
tionale is composed of well-fed, hearty-looking 
personages, seemingly adequate to a dozen cam- 
paigns, while the troops of the line are much 
smaller men, but possess that bronzed appear- 
ance, which indicates stamina and great capa- 
bility of endurance. Their average height, 1 
should think, would not exceed five feet and three 
or four inches; but these were the men, who 
planted the standard of their Emperor in nearly 
every capital of Europe. 

Thus much for the men, who, after all, differ 
but slightly in all civilized countries ; I shall 
therefore dismiss them with a few brief remarks 
on those peculiar traits of character, which may 
be regarded as distinctive and national. The 
Parisian is gay, volatile, and irreligious ; — but lit- 



316 PARIS. 

tie prone to reflection, he sedulously avoids ev- 
ery thing that tends immediately to suggest the 
image of mortality, though, when compelled to face 
Death, his constitutional bravery will not allow 
him to shrink from the encounter. Glory and 
pleasure are his two idols. In war he will fear- 
lessly risk his life to gain the one ; and in peace 
the hours of his existence are devoted to the other, 
or to gaining those means which he values prin- 
cipally as enabling him to attain it. His motto 
is the Epicurean " Dum vivimus* vivamus. " In the 
pleasures of the table he is moderate, being rarely 
guilty of undue excitement or excess, and the nat- 
ural flow of his spirits renders aid from artificial 
stimulus unnecessary. 

He is easily aroused to anger, and is ever ready, 
at the shadow of an affront, to demand or afford the 
satisfaction of a gentleman ; at the same time 
nothing can be more courteous than his general 
demeanor ; and, if he be quick to resent an un- 
provoked insult, he is in the like degree slow to 
inflict one. A candid explanation of a mistake, 
or a polite apology, will convert him from the 
bitter enemy to the warm-hearted friend. His 
pleasures are usually rather those of Sentiment 
than of Sense ; he is fond of music and the the- 
atre ; he is likewise addicted to gallantry, and 
fully alive to the fascinations of the softer sex. 

Yet, with all his many amiable qualities, there is 
a stratum of selfishness in the character of the 
Parisian, which renders it hazardous to depend 
upon him in those cases of urgency, which are the 



A GLANCE AT THE BEAU SEXE. 317 

pierre de louche whereby to test true friendship. 
He is a pleasant companion to share the convivi- 
ality of the social hour, but neither his character 
nor habits qualify him to be the staunch ally or the 
bosom friend. 

Having thus taken a hasty glance at the more 
prominent traits of character in the men, we will 
now turn our attention towards the beau sexe, 
which of course claims a closer and more protracted 
attention. 

In France the women can scarcely be called 
with justice the weaker sex. They preside at the 
comptoir, they do the honors of the table ; in fact, 
the women seem excluded from nothing, save that 
which appertains directly to the legislation of the 
realm. Elevated in such a condition of society, 
the women of France are of course very different 
from the sensitive and shrinking creatures that re- 
sult as the legitimate offspring of a diametrically op- 
posite state of public opinion. And, first, let us 
cast a glance at the physical appearance of the 
fair sex in France. The French woman is some- 
what lower in stature than the American or Eng- 
lish, and more inclined than either to the just 
degree of embonpoint, which communicates to the 
figure that graceful, rounded outline, without which 
elegance of person can hardly be said to exist. 
The natural graces of her exterior are heightened 
by consummate skill in the science of dress. 
The features of the Frenchwoman are animated 
and intelligent ; her carriage is easy and graceful ; 
her deportment gay and affable, and her whole 



318 PARIS. 

appearance conveys to the mind a je ne sais quoi 
of pleasing and harmonious, which, however mani- 
fest to the feelings, is yet difficult for the pen to 
describe. 

And here, while on the subject of foreign beauty, 
if the reader will pardon me the interruption, 
wafted by Imagination across the broad Atlantic, 
I will dwell for a moment upon a subject dearer 
to the American, — the beauty whose home is in 
his own rough clime. 

It must be conceded, and who shall therefor 
accuse me of an overweening national partiality, 
that, setting aside those peculiar graces of manner 
and tournure in which the French ladies excel all 
others, for the obvious reason, that it is the study 
of their lives so to appear, as most will fascinate 
the other sex, — setting these aside, I say, as un- 
fair advantages, because the stricter tone of public 
opinion with us forbids the fair sex the use of such 
powerful weapons, — it must be conceded, that the 
highest order of American beauty will eclipse the 
same order among the nations of Europe ; its 
very delicacy and perishable nature invests it with 
a charm, the healthier beauties of the Old World 
are unskilled to inspire. There is a stronger at- 
traction for the heart and the feelings in that 
kind of loveliness, which half discloses, even at its 
first bright dawn, the signs of its own ephemeral 
existence, than in the warmer glow of those open- 
ing charms, which promise to expand to a ripe 
and dazzling maturity. 

The mellow, melting tint, which the overhang- 



AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN BEAUTY. 319 

ing cloud borrows from the setting sun, though 
its transient beauty exist but for a moment, is 
dearer to the lover of Nature, than the fierce rajs 
of morning, or the gairish effulgence of a noonday 
sky. Were it, therefore, my envied lot (like that 
of Paris of old), to decide the claim to preemi- 
nence between the beauties that bloom in the va- 
rious climes through which I have ranged, and 
those of our western hemisphere, — without keeping 
the rival fair long in suspense, I should leave the 
palm at home. Nor do I believe, that the flashing 
beauties of Circassia, nor the melting Georgian 
maids, can surpass the charms of those lovely 
countenances, that from time to time flit by our 
path in our own native land. 

From these general remarks I will now descend 
to particulars. During my residence in the capital 
of France, the beauty of our countrywomen was 
favorably represented. Many names might be 
mentioned, to give weight to the assertion. I 
will select only among the bright galaxy those of 
Miss C ***** * and Mrs. W **•***»*, 
and my reader, more particularly if he were there 
at the time, will not think it an object to dispute 
the point. 

And now I bid adieu to this (to me) fascinating 
subject, over which the conscious pen would fain 
linger, — not doubting that the reader, if a gentle- 
man, will find this paragraph as much to his taste as 
any the author could have written ; and, if a lady 
(here I feel more diffidence), earnestly hoping that 
she will excuse the temerity, which has ventured to 



320 PARIS. 

proffer a homage, heartfelt, however unworthy, to 
charms, which, indeed, (oh impotence of language !) 
much abler writers have succeeded only — in failing 
to delineate. 

But, to resume our theme, the moral character 
of the dames Francoises has suffered much from 
the sweeping animadversions of travellers, particu- 
larly the English. If we were to give credence 
to the assertions of certain of these gentry, we 
should be compelled to believe, that morality is a 
thing well nigh unknown or exploded in France. 
In Henry Bulwer's work on that kingdom, of 
which, during my residence in Paris, I read the 
French translation, there occurs a passage embody- 
ing a sentiment like the following ; " Parmi les 
Francaises il n'y a point oVhonneur aussi farouche 
que de n'etre pas a prixP The remark indicates, 
either that there was some resistless fascination 
about the writer, reasoning from which he arrives 
at the general conclusion, or else it displays a most 
perverse obliquity of observation. Undoubtedly it 
must be allowed, that the moral atmosphere of 
Paris is not of the purest ; but yet the injustice of 
such a sweeping observation as the foregoing is too 
palpable to be for a moment admitted. 

Let us briefly follow out the education of the 
demoiselle of good family. At an early age she is 
sent to the convent or pension, where her time is 
passed in what we should term rigid seclusion. 
She is permitted no society from without, save that 
of her nearest relations, and even this is enjoyed 
but rarely ; she is never allowed to leave her abode, 



THE MAID AND THE MATRON. 321 

even for the healthful promenade, without being 
under direct surveillance. Even that degree of in- 
timacy, which, with us, is considered as existing 
with perfect propriety between the young of both 
sexes, in France is especially interdicted by the 
imperious convenance of society. Thus passes the 
time until the young lady attains her sixteenth or 
seventeenth year ; she is then freed from the dis- 
cipline of schools to reenter the paternal, or rather 
maternal mansion, and prepare for embarking in 
such matrimonial alliance as her parents shall have 
agreed upon. In the consummation of this impor- 
tant affair, the voice of the party most interested 
has but trifling weight ; her heart has had but little 
opportunity of entangling itself, and is presumed to 
be free. The young lady herself is seldom reluc- 
tant to pass the Rubicon that intervenes between 
the critical epoch of girlhood and the less equivocal 
state of matron. In a word, she is seldom averse 
to purchasing liberty even at the expense of a hus- 
band. Should she prove at first unreasonable 
enough to demur at accepting a man, whom in her 
life she has seen perchance but twice, her romantic 
objections are usually in the end overruled by pa- 
rental authority. The match is so advantageous ; — 
a title, wealth, or political influence, spring from the 
intended union. She yields at length to the sup- 
posed infallibility of her advisers, and acquiesces in 
all, as her mother and grandmother did before her. 
From this moment her liberty commences ; the 
Opera, the Assembly, the Card-Table, supervene 
to divert the ennui of married life ; the parties 
41 



322 paris. 

understand each other indifferently well, and the 
mari knows, that, if his own course be that of a 
roue, he can calculate but little upon the discretion 
of his wife. 

I have taken as the subject of the foregoing 
remarks, the demoiselle of good family and standing. 
After casting a glance over the inferior orders of 
Parisian society, the writer would scarcely attempt 
the difficult and hazardous task of defending their 
moral character. 

Beside the prodigious number of unfortunates, 
who earn their bread in a manner humanity shud- 
ders at, there are thousands of a better class, such 
as grisettes, modistes, &c, who, driven by absolute 
necessity (so poorly is female labor recompensed in 
France), and despairing, from their situation, of mat- 
rimony, are seldom without their amans, to whom, 
indeed, they have the character of being faithful. 
Yet, though all this must be admitted, there is not 
in Paris one quarter part of the disgusting immoral- 
ity and vice, that disgrace the lower orders of 
society in London. What a picture is presented 
of the condition of those classes by the author of 
the " Great Metropolis." In Paris, if sensuality 
do, to a certain extent, prevail, it is divested at 
least of those horrible adjuncts, inebriation and 
profaneness. The gin palace does not distribute its 
death-dealing potions, and vice, though ever de- 
formed, is here stripped of much of its grossness. 

Any one who has resided a length of time in the 
larger capitals of Europe, where the wealth is 
almost entirely in the hands of a small portion of 



A GLANCE AT THE LOWER CLASSES. 323 

the community, leaving vast numbers not even the 
means of obtaining honestly a scanty and precarious 
subsistence, and where, too, the distinctions which 
the artificial state of society gives birth too, are 
imperious and insuperable ; — any one, who has had 
the opportunity of observing all this, may regret, 
indeed, but cannot wonder at, the dark pictures of 
wretchedness and crime the large cities of Europe 
so constantly unfold to the eye ; and then, too, in 
extenuation, one must take into view the total 
neglect of education, another curse which is almost 
irremediably entailed upon them. But few, among 
the classes of whom I speak, can read or write, or 
have other ideas of the Supreme Being, or the 
nature of religion, than such as spring from the 
most debasing superstitions. On materials such as 
these, can Virtue erect unto herself a Temple ? 
Let us examine before we condemn. 

Divorces are obtained with much difficulty in 
France, and even conjugal infidelity is held as in- 
adequate to annul the marriage vow. The contract- 
ing parties do in fact take each other for better or 
for worse, and, as they are seldom romantic enough 
to stake their sum total of happiness on the cast 
of a die, there seems generally to ensue, — let 
fortune do her worst, — a degree of philosophic 
indifference, preferable surely to the violent ex- 
treme. 

The French language is rich in the warm phrase- 
ology that depicts the passion of love ; but I am 
conversant with no phrase that aptly renders our 
"domestic comfort," or one that conveys in its 



324 Paris 

full force the magic of " Home." The very bar- 
renness of the language in this respect is proof 
enough of itself, that the genius of the people is 
but little inclined to the enjoyment of that quiet 
felicity, to which Hymen is supposed to set the seal. 

I was somewhat amused at the naivete of a 
response that was mentioned to me as having been 
rendered by a jeune et belle mariee to her expostu- 
lating mari ; " Mais, monsieur" exclaims the un- 
convinced beauty, " que vous etes deraisonnable ! 
Je suis jeune et sans experience, et enjin que voulez 
vous que je fasse ? " The piquancy of the origin- 
al is lost in attempting its translation. 

In concluding my brief remarks upon this sub- 
ject, I must add, that the standard of morality, mal- 
gre the assertions of splenetic travellers, is higher 
in France than in Spain or Italy, or those districts 
of Central and Southern Europe, in general, where 
the same religion prevails. 

In the domestic history of all nations professing 
the Roman Catholic Faith, intrigue forms ever a 
prominent feature. The Confessional, with its 
abuses ; the purchased absolution, with the secret, 
unhallowed instigation of that numerous and influ- 
ential body, whose duty it should be to keep salu- 
tary guardianship over the morals of the mass, aided 
by the lamentable ignorance and superstition that 
prevail among the middling and lower classes, — 
must necessarily exert a most efficient agency in 
impairing the moral constitution of society. 

Happy is it for Protestant America, that she glo- 
riously commenced where paused in the work of 



PROTESTANT AMERICA. 325 

reformation the most enlightened nation of the Old 
World. Happy, thrice happy is it for her, that she 
has been enabled, from the first, to pursue the 
cheering and enlightened course, pointed out by 
the finger of the true faith. It is her rare good 
fortune to enjoy the rich blessings of religious free- 
dom and liberty of conscience. May these privi- 
leges never in their abuse lead on to license. 

Firm and lasting may the beautiful fabric of our 
glorious Constitution proudly uprear itself to con- 
vince the world, that an educated people, whose 
measures are the result of a wise and enlightened 
policy, are fully capable of governing themselves. 
May it, in a word, be reserved for us to show, that 
the healthy existence of a Republic is no anomaly 
in the history of Nations. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

Various Objects of Interest. — St. Cloud. — Les deux Trianons. — 
Swiss Cottages. — Montmorency. — Departure from Paris. — Havre. 

— Passage in the Apollo. — Arrival at Portsmouth. — Police Ex- 
amination. — Visit to the Packet Office. — The Victory and Lord 
Nelson. — Journey to London. — The Ascot Races. — Visits to 
the Zoological Gardens and other Places of Interest. — The Duke 
of Wellington. — Theatres and Actors.— Acting of Madame Mali- 
bran in the Maid of Artois. — Concert for her Husband's Benefit. 

— Her Success at the Concert. — Anecdote in Connexion with this 
celebrated Singer. — Her Personal Appearance. — English Hospi- 
tality. — The Well-bred Englishman described. — His National 
Fierte. — Remarks on his Reserve. — r English Travellers. — De- 
parture from England. — Reflections on England and America. 

Before bidding adieu to Paris and its imme- 
diate vicinity, I had intended embracing within 
my remarks a description of St. Cloud, and its 
graceful Chateau, set off by the picturesque beauty 
of its site, and the romantic environs, amid which 
it reposes, laved by the placid waters of the Seine. 
I might also have dwelt upon the costly, though 
heavy magnificence of that palace, which recalls 
the palmiest days of the Bourbon, the splendid era 
of Louis " Le Grand" ; I might have wandered 
with the courteous reader through the groves 
and shaded walks of the royal garden, or re- 
clined upon the grassy couch, protected from the 
rays of an ardent sun by the grateful umbrage of 
those waving and stately trees, which owned in 
their infancy the care of a beautiful and ill-starred 
Queen. 



LES DEUX TRIANONS. — SWISS COTTAGES. 327 

I would have visited with him les deux Tria- 
nons, and admired, in the statelier one, a pile, which 
the Royal Lover caused to rise at the caprice of a 
Maintenon ; or dwelt in the other with deeper in- 
terest over the relics, that recall the image of the 
Imperial Josephine. In his fair company would I 
have wandered among the Swiss cottages,* or by 
the borders of the artificial lake, or, perchance, with 
admiring thousands, have witnessed the lofty rise 
of those jets cPeaux, whose occasional play sum- 
mons the world of Paris to Versailles. 

Or on the opposite extreme, remote from palaces 
and splendor, might I have courted the sweet soli- 
tude that clings around thy vales, rich in treasured 
reminiscences, romantic Montmorency. The author 
of the "Heloise" has thrown the mantle of per- 
petuity over thy name. The Hermitage still stands, 
where were traced his deathless conceptions, and 



* The gardens of the Lesser Trianon are arranged with much 
taste and elegance. The visiter who roams over the picturesque and 
shaded walks, that thread their wide extent, will every where meet 
with objects that charm the eye and interest the feelings. Here rises, 
in its airy beauty, the Grecian Temple, fit habitation for the " breathing 
marble " that embellishes it ; further on you behold the artificial rock, 
piled in fantastic masses, and ever damp from the spray of the foam- 
ing cascade. Wherever the eye turns in this magic domain, it will 
encounter the traces of a refined and luxurious age. Not the least 
prominent among the objects of interest, in the garden, are several cot- 
tages, built after the Swiss fashion, where, wearied with the cumber- 
some splendor of Versailles, Louis the Fifteenth was accustomed to 
repair with Madame la Marquise de Pompadour. The fair Marchio- 
ness was attired it, la laitiere, and the ladies of the Court costumed 
in character: thus attended, would the dissolute 3Ionarch of France 
pass merrily away the hours, forgetful alike of the splendor of a Court, 
and of the cares that environ a Crown. 



328 PARIS. — ADIEUS. 

the visiter may yet pace along the walks of that 
garden, where Jean-Jaques was wont to lose sight 
of the actual world, in worshipping the ideal, — and 
where also reposes the heart of a Gretry. 

Such, indeed, were my intentions ; but the allure- 
ments of Paris have trespassed too largely upon my 
time and limits to allow their being put into effect. 
And now I wave mes tristes adieux to the city of 
cities, though I trust not for aye. Blase indeed were 
the man, who could take his final leave of a capi- 
tal so rich in all that appertains to the arts and 
sciences, as well as to the elegances of life, with- 
out an emotion akin to sorrow ; and now a feeling 
of that nature stole over me, as, passing the last 
barrier, I leaned back in the carriage, and reflect- 
ed upon those days past, that seemed to have 
flitted by me as a vision, and upon those which 
were to succeed. The rolling vehicle was rapidly 
shortening the distance that intervened between 
the traveller and his port of final embarkation, and 
soon I should be tossing on that pathless Ocean 
whose unfathomable billow laves alike the shores 
of every mighty Continent. 

We arrived safely at Havre, and immediately 
engaged passage in the steamboat. Apollo, for 
Portsmouth. The hours that intervened between 
the time of our arrival and that of the vessel's sail- 
ing, were passed by my friend and myself in making 
calls upon bankers, arranging our luggage, and dis- 
cussing the last continental dinner. At six P. M., 
the Apollo got under weigh, and landed us in good 
season the ensuing morning at Portsmouth, with- 



POLICE EXAMINATION. 329 

out other mishap than some slight symptoms of 
uneasiness, signifying sea-sickness. Upon land- 
ing, we were en masse accosted by a police officer, 
who desired to know if there were foreigners in 
the company, and, specifically, if there were any 
American gentlemen. A hint from my more ex- 
perienced friend, induced me to preserve silence up- 
on this subject. The American, upon arriving from 
the Continent, at a British port, is liable to suffer 
both inconvenience and delay from attention to cer- 
tain tedious forms to be gone through. The officers 
are by no means particular in examining your ef- 
fects. They appear to be an excellent-hearted set 
of fellows, and the tender of a few shillings is, with 
them, a first-rate passport, even for a suspicious 
wardrobe. We took lodgings at the " Fountain," 
a very tolerable Inn for a place de garnison ; and 
having duly prefaced the day with such refresh- 
ment as mine host of the " Fountain ' deemed 
proper to offer, commenced our work with a visit 
to the packet office. The packet of the first, a 
new and crack ship, was full. Her captain, learn- 
ing that we had intended taking passage in his 
ship, politely offered us the use of his own state- 
room ; but we concluded it would be the better 
course to visit the Capital, and there await the sail- 
ing of the next packet. One day was passed 
pleasantly in Portsmouth, — a portion of it in ply- 
ing about the harbour and roadstead, and admiring 
the huge ships of war. Among others we had the 
satisfaction of pacing the " Victory's deck." There 
42 



330 PORTSMOUTH.— ARRIVAL IN LONDON. 

is here an inscription carved upon a brass plate 
marking the spot where Lord Nelson fell. 

What a glorious death was his, to fall in the 
arms of Victory, as she encircled the brows of her 
favorite son with the bright wreath of glory that 
shall never fade ! England's greatest Admiral clos- 
ing his brilliant career amid the thunder of artil- 
lery, that announced the most stupendous conquest 
in the annals of naval warfare, and cementing with 
his blood an unwritten treaty, which should arro- 
gate to his country the proud supremacy of the 
seas, — could the hero desire a fate more enviable ? 

The next day we took our seats in the early 
coach for London. The distance (about seventy 
miles) was accomplished in a little more than seven 
hours ; and once again, after an interval of twelve 
months, I was rolling along the crowded streets 
of that proud Capital, that issues its laws to the 
whole Commercial World. It was then about the 
commencement of the month of June; all the 
world, as the French say, were pouring into the 
capita], and the " London season " was rapidly 
approaching to its zenith. 

A day or two after my arrival, the Ascot Races 
took place. They were fashionably attended by 
the nobility and gentry. The whole scene, with 
the gay assemblage redolent of the true bon ton, 
— the splendid array of equipages, — and then, too, 
the liveried grooms with their beautifully condi- 
tioned animals, — presented a brilliant coup aVozil. 

For myself, as there were but few days at 
my disposal, I resolved to crowd as much as pos- 



OCCUPATIONS OF A DAY. 331 

sible into the brief period of time which was to 
limit my sojourn in " merry England." Of a fine 
morning T promenaded along the troitoirs of Re- 
gent or Oxford street, to catch a glance at the 
beau monde, and especially at the belles dames, who 
were rolling along in their luxurious carriages ; or 
I summoned a cabriolet and drove to the Zoological 
Gardens, where I got rid of an hour or two pleas- 
antly enough in admiring the once wild denizens 
of the pathless forest ; or, when weary of that, 
in observing the fashionable mob of ladies and 
gentlemen, who repair to this spot as a general 
rendezvous, to look and be looked at. On one 
day I visited St. Paul's, and took a glance at the 
huge city from its lofty Ball ; upon another I 
roamed through the apartments of that blood-stain- 
ed Tower, that recalls the sanguinary days of the 
Tudor, or I mused amid the time-hallowed clois- 
ters of that venerable pile, which a grateful na- 
tion has consecrated to the memory of Departed 
Genius. 

Of a Sunday I took a turn in Hyde-Park, — on 
that day of the week, the focus where the rays 
of Fashion concentrate. The last time I visited 
the Park, it was my good fortune to behold the 
most remarkable man of the present day (Talley- 
rand alone excepted), — I mean the Duke of Wel- 
lington. His Grace was on foot, and plainly hab- 
ited in a blue frock coat, with white trowsers. 
The appearance of this celebrated personage is 
thoroughly aristocratic ; and there is in his coun- 
tenance that indefinable air noble, which well be- 



332 LONDON. 

comes a man whom Providence has selected to 
humble the master-spirit of an age. In height 
His Grace must be about five feet, nine inches, 
with a person inclining to the slender, but per- 
fectly soldierlike and erect. 

I have said what were my principal occupations 
during the day. In the evening, after that im- 
portant consideration, dinner, had been duly dis- 
cussed, I looked in at the theatres. The dram- 
atic world at that time was in full blast ; at 
Covent Garden there was Macready, backed by 
Sergeant Talfourd's " Ion," while its sister tem- 
ple of the Muses was nightly crowded to ex- 
cess, and with good reason, — the greatest musical 
wonder of our day, the transcendant Malibran, was 
there. 

She was just appearing in a new and success- 
ful opera, composed or compiled expressly for her, 
by Balfe, an English writer of music ; its title was 
" The Maid of Artois." I had the pleasure of be- 
holding Malibran three times in this Opera ; her 
delivery of the music was replete with the most 
exquisite sweetness and melody ; and her acting, 
now so gently feminine, would, as the progress of 
the piece called for a display of more passionate 
feeling, at intervals absolutely electrify you by its 
startling energy. Her execution of the difficult 
finale, commencing with 

■ The rapture dweUing in this breast," 

was beyond comparison the most perfect and ef- 
fective musical performance I had ever listened to. 
As I think any thing relating to the later ex- 



A LONDON MORNING CONCERT. 333 

hibitions of this celebrated Singer, now passed 
away like a dream, will not be devoid of in- 
terest to the general reader, I shall offer no apol- 
ogy for entering somewhat into detail upon the 
subject of a Concert, at which she sang for her 
husband's benefit, and which constituted, probably, 
the greatest musical treat of that nature, ever 
offered to the London public. 

The talent enlisted upon this occasion was un- 
precedented. Besides the unrivalled heroine, there 
was Mademoiselle Giulia Grisi, second only to her. 
There was Lablache with his voice of thunder ; 
there was Rubini's delicious tenor ; there were 
Tamburini and Ivanhoff, with others whose names 
Fame had less trumpeted. On the violin there 
was De Benot, than whom none could elicit from 
the chords more touching strains, save that arch- 
magician of fiddlers, Paganini ; — Henri Herz, and 
the German Thalberg, acknowledged the most 
eminent pianists in Europe, swept the keys of a 
magnificent double instrument. 

The price of the tickets for this Concert (a 
morning one in the London acceptation, that is, 
commencing at 2 P. M.) was a guinea each, being 
double the usual sum. The exhibition took place 
at the Concert Room of the King's Theatre. Be- 
fore the appointed hour, the large hall was en- 
tirely filled, and the outer doors absolutely throng- 
ed with baffled applicants for places. I paid my 
twenty-one shillings, and, for lack of other place, 
secured a position upon the stage, where I remained 
standing during the whole performance. My posi- 



334 LONDON. 

tion, however, was not without its advantages, for it 
afforded me a near view of all the celebrated vir- 
tuosi of the Italian stage, and of Malibran herself. 

I remember hearing this accomplished singer 
converse upon that day in four different languages, 
— French, Italian, English, and German, — in 
three of which she could sing with equal effect. 
The bijou of the concert was a duetto between 
Mademoiselle Grisi and herself, from Rossini's 
brilliant music ; in the execution of this piece, Ma- 
dame Malibran let loose the luxuriance of her in- 
ventive fancy, and electrified her audience with 
the most brilliant roulades and cadenzas. The 
other lady wisely attempted not to follow her 
rapid course, for the attempt even there must have 
involved a failure. 

In the tones of Malibran there would at times 
be developed a deep and trembling pathos, that, 
rushing from the very fountain of the heart, thril- 
led instinctively upon a responsive chord in the 
bosoms of all. This it was, even more than her 
wonderful execution or unequalled power, that 
gave her such mastery over the feelings. In her 
performance of " Amina," in Bellini's beautiful 
Opera, La Somnambida, — who could listen to 
those passionate, imploring, thrilling notes of min- 
gled love and anguish, without being affected even 
unto tears ? 

But to resume our subject. The concert did not 
conclude until after five o'clock. Madame Malibran 
sang many different pieces, and there were several 
repetitions. At the conclusion of her last aria she 



MADAME MAL1BRAN. 335 

hastily quitted the room, amid the busy murmur 
of acclamation. The interest of the occasion was 
now gone. I left the theatre of sweet sounds 
behind me, and entered to a moment the apart- 
ment appropriated to the singers. There were 
present only, beside myself, De Beriot, and a 
brother musician, and Madame Malibran, who had 
just seated herself in a chair; almost upon the 
instant, overcome with fatigue and excitement, 
she had fainted away. De Beriot turned with 
great sang froid to the other, who was Thalberg, 
the noted pianist, and merely observing, with much 
indifference, " Elle a chante tant" gave himself no 
further trouble. His companion threw up the 
window, procured cold water, and soon she return- 
ed to consciousness ; her first question, tenderly 
expressed, " Oil est Carl" seemed to me in striking 
contrast with the indifference of him, who evidently 
occupied the first place in her awakening thoughts. 
The slight incident I have mentioned, might, 
from its intrinsic unimportance, have slipped my 
memory, had not the subsequent melancholy fate of 
her to whom it related, tended to impress it deeply 
upon my mind. There are many doubtless among 
us, who well recollect that bright creature, the 
Signorina Garcia, with her attractive person, and 
her even then acknowledged talents ; but for those 
who do not, I shall merely observe, in conclusion, 
that Madame Malibran was in person a little below 
the middle size, with the just and graceful degree 
of embonpoint ; her hair, which, at the time I saw 
her, she wore smoothly combed over the head, from 



S36 LONDON. 

whence it fell in masses upon the snowy neck, was 
black and glossy as is the plumage on the raven's 
wing. Her eyes were those dark, expressive orbs, 
that we gaze upon as indicating the fatal possession 
of genius. Her teeth were beautifully white and 
regular, and her whole countenance, with its pen- 
sive, and at times melancholy expression, possessed 
a something of indefinable interest and attraction. 

It is by no means my intention here to enter into 
the details of London life, neither shall I attempt 
to particularize the numerous curiosities of the 
Metropolis, or point out its various avenues to 
pleasure or profit. Even were I to attempt the 
task, my pen, inadequately guided by personal ex- 
perience, could only fail in doing justice to the 
theme. 

It is certainly difficult for a foreigner, unless a 
long residence in the country, and peculiar advan- 
tages, have afforded him opportunities denied to 
the transient traveller, to collect from his own 
immediate observation other than a very superficial 
knowledge, both with respect to the capital and 
the country at large. If it were necessary, ample 
proof might be adduced to strengthen my assertion, 
in the unsatisfactory accounts relative to England 
and the English given us by modern travellers of 
our own as well as of other countries ; for, not- 
withstanding all that has been written on the sub- 
ject, a standard work of travels throughout the 
kingdom of Great Britain, is yet a desideratum in 
the circle of American literature. 

There is, however, one remark that my personal 



THE WELL-BRED ENGLISHMAN. 337 

experience will allow me to make, and it is this : 
whatever may be the extent of national preju- 
dice, nowhere is hospitality more freely extended 
to the American, individually, than in the British 
Isles. During my two visits to London, I do not 
recollect of hearing from any quarter so much as 
an allusion tending even indirectly to injure the 
nicest national pride ; on the contrary, while there, 
I never heard our country spoken of in other terms 
than those of respect and admiration. 

Let us glance for a moment at the more imme- 
diately prominent traits in the character of the 
well-bred Englishman. In the first place, we ob- 
serve a full share of national fierte ; but is that to 
be wondered at, in the conscious citizen of a coun- 
try, which, by the mere force of its moral energies, 
has achieved more glorious results than any other 
since the imperial eagles of Rome humbled a world? 
And even now has Great Britain more cause of 
triumph than ever ; as, turning her eyes from those 
extended dominions, upon which the Sun never 
sets, she beholds, across the heaving Atlantic, the 
proud scion, that, lopped as it were but a day since 
in the life of nations, from the parent tree, now 
shoots heavenward its majestic branches, and, 
Banian-like, multiplying indefinitely itself, em- 
braces a Continent, and laves its boughs in either 
ocean. 

The Englishman is not a little censured by 
foreigners on the ground of his being reserved and 
difficult of access. At the first dawn of an ac- 
quaintance, perhaps this may be true ; but, let me 

43 



338 LONDON. 

ask, must not this result ever obtain in old aris- 
tocratic countries, where the nice shades of dis- 
tinction between man and man are so accurately 
drawn. If this reserve be a fault (and I for one 
am unwilling to concede that it is), it is not the 
fault of the man, but rather of the spirit of the 
government under which he lives. In England, 
to be a gentleman by birth, feeling, and education, 
is among the proudest of distinctions ; and the 
greatest care is observed in maintaining the pure 
ancestral escutcheon free from aught like stain. 
Hence naturally results a caution, which by the 
superficial is mistaken for hauteur. 

There is yet another more immediate reason for 
the reserve, that prevails among the higher classes 
of English society. London, that huge Babylon of 
the modern world, breeds amid its numerous pur- 
lieus a swarm of those chevaliers dHndustrie, who, 
under the guise and address of gentlemen, are 
ever ready to entrap the unwary. To guard 
against the attacks of this numerous clique, an tin- 
deviating course is pursued by the English gentry ; 
a satisfactory introduction is the only necessary 
passport ; — that given, you will have no cause to 
complain of distance, or lack of hospitality, in the 
English gentleman. 

I think I may say, both from personal expe- 
rience and observation, that, when an acquaintance 
has ripened into intimacy and esteem, you can no- 
where find that courteous affability, so characteris- 
tic of the well-bred man, united with the sincere 
devotion we look for in a friend, more proudly 



ENGLISH TRAVELLERS. 339 

prominent than in the character of the Englishman. 
These remarks must be understood as applying 
almost exclusively to the Englishman at home; 
upon those you encounter abroad, the same flat- 
tering eulogium cannot with justice be pronounced. 

Now that a long peace has opened the various 
states of Europe to the multitudes of English, the 
class of tourists are by no means of the same cal- 
ibre as that immediately posterior to the stirring 
events of 1815; — now that every one travels, trav- 
elling consequently is no longer fashionable. 

At present, Englishmen of rank and influence, 
for the most part, remain at home ; or, when they 
do visit the Continent, it is in a manner that serves 
as an effectual barrier between them and the herd. 
The great mass of the English who now cross the 
channel, for a few months sejour in Boulogne, or a 
saunter though the Palais Royal and salons of 
Paris, are rather dilapidated personages, whose 
slender incomes, and perhaps slenderer reputations, 
render it advisable to bid adieu for a time to their 
natal soil. In the keeping of this class, the English 
reputation on the Continent has much degenerated, 
since the proud epoch, referred to above, when the 
very name of un monsieur Anglais conjured up to 
the delighted inn-keeper's fancy, the image of a 
Milord rolling in gold, and taking his ease in the 
luxurious travelling-carriage, surrounded by a garde 
de corps of liveried outriders. But after all, a few 
exceptions to the general rule cannot impugn my 
position ; neither was it to these classes, such as I 
have described them, that my remarks had refer- 



340 THE LAND OF OUR ANCESTORS. 

ence. In all civilized countries the vulgar and un- 
educated are essentially the same. 

And now, adieu to thee, merry England ! — thy 
bold shores will soon recede from my view, but the 
swelling surge that bears me onward can efface 
nought of thy treasured recollection. Proud as the 
American is, and ought to be, of the lofty position 
his yet infant republic has assumed amid the wide- 
extended family of nations, should he be less so 
of the noble stock from which he originally 
sprung ? In the rising glory of the present, he 
will not forget the noble land of his ancestry. In 
his heart of hearts he will preserve enshrined the 
memory of her gallant sons, who have so often shed 
their blood in support of the holy faith he profess- 
es, who have never failed in the hour of need to 
step forward and interpose their lives between the 
liberties of Christendom and its foes. May it be 
the glory of our republic to follow out the noble 
course thou hast opened for the general ameliora- 
tion of mankind. Once more adieu, — 



Our gallant bark has ploughed her onward track 
across the swelling bosom of the mysterious ocean. 
Already the green hills of my own native land 
blend with the distant horizon. How dances the 
blood with exultation, as opens to the eye each un- 
forgotten scene ! 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Reflections on the Effects and Advantages of foreign Travel. 

Months have passed away since my foot has 
pressed the soil of the stranger and the scenes of 
the Past, now mellowed by memory, steal over me 
rather with the pictured beauty of a vision than the 
sterner force of reality. The mind, which naturally 
dwells upon the fairest features of the varied land- 
scape, has excluded from the retrospect those dark 
scenes that pleased it not, and blended the various 
pictures of light in one harmonious whole. 



* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 



It has been said, that the inclination for trav- 
el, long yielded to, generates a fondness for the 
excitement of a desultory life, and tyrannizes at 
last over the mind, with all the force of invet- 
erate habit. Doubtless with some temperaments 
this is the truth. The man, who flies from himself, 
and asks but escape from reflection, will find in 
the varying excitement of constant travel, an 
opiate, which, if long indulged in, becomes, at last, 
as necessary to his existence as the very air he 
breathes. 



342 REFLECTIONS ON FOREIGN TRAVEL. 

Upon other minds, travelling will leave but an 
indistinct and easily effaceable impress. Those 
that it most visibly affects, and which, indeed, 
often derive a color lasting as life from it, are the 
minds, that, from a peculiarity of organization, are 
ill-fitted to struggle in the clashing scenes of the 
world, or to appreciate the dull realities of every- 
day life, — minds, in a word, whose dreamy and 
speculative cast inclines them to the sublime vaga- 
ries of the Ideal, and, imbuing their whole texture 
with a spirit of romance, induces them to lose sight 
of the age of utility and invention, and seek a 
more exciting aliment in the history of the past. 
These remarks apply indeed more particularly to the 
American traveller. 

It has also been a question, whether seeing the 
world, as it is called, tends to make a man happier, 
or better satisfied with his own condition in life. I 
should say, No, but it may make him wiser ; — it 
does or should enlarge the circle of his mind, and 
store it with material, useful for himself and others, 
and this is the more essential point. It does not 
make him happier, it seems to me, because it rudely 
casts down the fair superstructure which fond illu- 
sion has reared upon a basis of truth. The travel- 
ler observes, — go where he will, even in the smil- 
ing regions of perennial summer, where the cli- 
mate ever invites, and honest Nature presents 
spontaneous and unasked her choicest gifts, — that 
suffering humanity is subject to the same average 
of ill, and that there is no region so fair, but 
misery, disease, and disappointment find means to 



REFLECTIONS ON FOREIGN TRAVEL. 343 

inhabit it. Let him roam over the garden of Eu- 
rope, the Conqueror, the School of the World, 
classic, unfortunate Italy. Where now are the 
marks of that grandeur, which held a world in 
its embrace. Look for it in yon colossal pile 
of ruins. Where is that once wide-spread ele- 
gance and luxury, that followed in the trace of 
the sword to civilize and refine ? Alas, it dwells 
only on the pages of her poets and historians ; yet 
this, degraded and fallen as it now is, beyond the 
tardy grasp of redemption, is the land of the no- 
blest associations of history and romance ! 

Thus much for the past ; — now for a glance at 
the present, with an individual reflection upon 
ourselves. When we go abroad for the first time, 
we generally take with us a budget of darling 
prejudices, with which it is hard parting. We 
(I speak of the mass of American travellers) gaze 
about us, on the foreign slaves, with a kind of 
" Sum Romanus civis ,: expression. This feeling 
is usually rather an ephemeral plant ; there is no 
use in fostering it, when, upon penetrating into 
the heart of a Continent, we find the mass of the 
people scarcely acquainted with our national exist- 
ence ; or, if they are aware that there is such a 
country as the United States of America, usually 
unenlightened, as to whether our color be white or 
black. 

But if the national vanity be thus wounded, yet 
worse is it with that of the individual. A man will 
be fully aware of his own insignificance by the time 
he has completed the tour of Europe ; and this is 



344 REFLECTIONS ON FOREIGN TRAVEL. 

by no means an agreeable piece of information to 
most persons. Of a truth, I know nothing better 
calculated to stifle in the bud the passion of vanity, 
than a sojourn in the several populous cities of 
Europe ; where a man, unless elevated by a high- 
sounding title, the wealth of a millionaire, or the 
magic of genius, positively seems as nothing in the 
estimation of any one except himself ; and his exist- 
ence appears to be of exactly as much consequence 
to the well-being and continuation of Society, as a 
drop of water from the sky would be to the billowy 
capital of the eternal ocean. 

Besides these personal desabusemens so disagree- 
able to the equalizing republican, there are hosts of 
other illusions rudely cast down ; those with which 
the flowing pen of History, investing the sites 
of memorable events, has transmitted to us, and 
deeply engrafted upon the mind, but which, alas ! 
but too often melt away before the touchstone of 
actual inspection. And, in fine, were there no 
other reason, the one I am about to mention would 
be sufficient. 

In proportion as we visit far removed sections of 
the world, between whose boundaries intervenes 
the huge chain of mountains, or the tempestuous 
Ocean rolls his fathomless wave ; in proportion, I 
say, as we look into, and consider, the actual con- 
dition of the whole extended family of man, and 
become familiar by personal observation with the 
history of our race ; — in proportion as this dearly- 
bought knowledge increases, — will usually decrease, 
in a similar ratio, the presence of that phantom we 



REFLECTIONS ON FOREIGN TRAVEL. 345 

call happiness. I believe a perfect insight into 
those arcana of nature, now, with our finite per- 
ceptions, a mark alone for the arrows of hypothesis 
and vague conjecture, — to be enjoyed by himself 
only, — would make a man the most miserable of his 
race. So is it, in kind, with that knowledge, (even 
in the less degree,) which a comprehensive and 
searching mind, aided by such opportunity as an 
investigating spirit and a fearless heart will afford, — 
may ever command. 

To see and deplore those ills which no power of 
our own can alleviate ; to feel bitterly the general 
degradation of the creature upon whom God has 
set the seal of reason, and created after his own 
image; to feel, and only feel; to be, perchance, 
scoffed at by those, who, unable to understand, 
regard your views as those of the visionary enthu- 
siast, — docs all this bring no sting ? 

I have heard mentioned, or read in books, that 
the American, revisiting his native shores after a 
long sojourn in the countries of the Old World, re- 
turns either a flaming radical or an ultra aristocrat. 
The remark runs too much into extremes. I should 
rather say (if my brief experience may make itself 
heard), that such an opportunity for investigation, 
if at all improved, would incline him to the just 
and middle course. 

He sees, indeed, the folly of expecting a perfect 
result from the Utopian theories of the great Ideal- 
ist, which some have been visionary enough to 
think might be practically realized ; he has resided 
under various governments, and should be qualified 

44 



346 REFLECTIONS ON FOREIGN TRAVEL. 

to sum up the several advantages incidental to 
each, and to determine in his own mind where 
dwells the greatest amount of good ; and he gen- 
erally learns too, whatever be his opinion, to avoid 
that empty, violent declamation (as different from 
the calm language of conviction as fire from ice), 
which is generally the Asinine offspring of Igno- 
rance, and would fain hide from the world its 
proper self under the skin of the Lion. 

But, whether foreign travel open sources of hap- 
piness or unhappiness, it is certainly productive of 
many and signal solid advantages to a reflecting 
mind. It acquaints man with his fellow man ; it is 
useful alike to the few who are set apart to govern, 
and to the many whose duty it is to obey ; it en- 
larges and liberalizes the mind, by weeding from 
it those unfounded and dangerous prejudices, which 
vanish before the rays of information, as do the 
mists of the morning before the material sun. 

The Old World is the world of associations and 
of history. Upon its wide theatre have been 
enacted the great dramas, that have made man what 
he is ; it has been the scene of every stupendous 
invention or startling discovery, that has modified 
the condition of the human race, save that alone 
which has given us a country. It is the world, in 
fine, to which we look for useful precedents and 
that instruction, which the experience of the past 
alone can give. 

When Time shall have marched onward, until he 
reach a point in the vast circle of years where 
his ample scroll shall display an age as far re- 



REFLECTIONS ON FOREIGN TRAVEL. 347 

moved from ours as that is from the Augustan 
era of Rome, perchance, may this land be the only 
one worth the visiting. European power, with 
those vast landmarks, which show the progress of 
centuries, may be swept away by the universal 
destroyer, and the now growing giant of the West- 
ern World may have encircled the wide Universe in 
his huge embrace, and the lesson it were useful for 
us to learn, might be thrown away upon the su- 
perior wisdom of a distant posterity. 

Whether as a nation our example shall shine 
gloriously upon the page of history, or whether 
our Experiment shall be recorded but as a beacon- 
light to warn the world, the dim ages of futurity 
will display. We will not anticipate ; our business 
is with the present. If we shine, it must be by 
pursuing those Arts and Sciences (cradled in the 
lap of Old Europe, and fostered upon her maternal 
bosom), which, by elevating the moral tone and 
condition of man, are alone worthy of his intellec- 
tual endowments. 

But it were needless to descant at length upon 
the advantages of travel. Ask the enthusiastic pil- 
grim, who has returned from his wanderings over 
the fields of Italy and Greece, and that other land, 
that was the school of both ; — who has dwelt upon 
the brightness of those godlike forms, that live in 
marble, or breathe on the canvass, to show what 
man might be ; — who has mused over that Mon- 
umental Ruin, fit emblem of a nation's power ; — 
who has paced the aisles of that Colossal Temple, 
Titanic offspring of Centuries, and gazed upon its 



348 REFLECTIONS ON FOREIGN TRAVEL. 

air-hung Dome ; — ask such an one, if a change be 
not " come o'er the spirit of his dream " ? What is 
the life of man ? It is a vision, and a fleeting one ; 
it passeth away, — and we are not ; but the good 
men do, it hath been said, shall live after them, 
and knowledge, a knowledge of mankind, — an 
acquaintance with their various wants, conditions, 
and societies, (when rightly directed,) is the rocky 
basis upon which stands, most firmly, the fair struc- 
ture of GOOD. 

I have done ; and, if what I have writ shall 
serve a purpose more lasting or useful than the 
mere amusement for a passing hour, my end will 
be answered, and the task I have attempted not 
undertaken in vain. 



GENERAL INDEX. 



A. 

Acadejmie Royale de McsiQUE in Par- 
is, 5. Opera at the, 5. The Ballet 
there, 7. Names of artistes attached 
to the, 238. Its construction and nu- 
merous compartments, 239. Prices of 
admission to the, 239. Royal Box in 
the, 240. Seldom attended by the 
Royal Family, 240. Internal deco- 
rations of the, 240. Its saloon, 240. 
Its external appearance, 241. Operas 
represented there, 241. Remarks on 
the opera performers there, 248. The 
danse at, 251. Ballets performed at, 
251. Remarks on the ballet performers, 
251 ; on the male artistes in the danse 
there, 256. Masked balls at the, 310. 

Ambigu Comique, theatre of, in Paris, 
277. 

America, reflections on Protestant, 324. 
Respect for, in England, 33G. 

American travellers in Europe, sensa- 
tions of, 21: Unsatisfactory accounts 
given of England by, 336. Prejudices 
of, 343. 

Amphitheatre, the ancient, at Nismes, 
182 ; at Toulouse, 210. 

Amsterdam, ride to, from Rotterdam, 22. 
House occupied by Peter the Great 
near, 23, 27. Described and compar- 
ed with other cities, 24. The Stadt 
Haus there, 24. Dearth of amuse- 
ments in, 24. The Picture Gallery 
there, 25. Scenery in the vicinity of, 
27. 

Amusements, the German, 62. Cheap- 
ness of, at Vienna, 84. Remarks on 
French, 308. 

Anglais, the Cafe, at Paris, excellence 
of the, 285. The Count, there, 286. 

Angleterre, Hotel d', at Rouen, 2. 



Antiquity, monuments of, in Paris, 9. 
General appearance of, at Brunswick, 
31. Monuments of, at Nismes, 182; 
at Toulouse, 210. 

Aqueduct of the Pont du Gard, near 
Nismes, 184. The colossal, at Caserta, 
184. The supposed Roman, at Mont- 
pellier, 205; at Toulouse, 210. 

Archduke Charles, his maison de cam- 
pagne at Baden, 75. 

Archduke Charles Hotel, at Vienna, 67. 

Arsenal, at Berlin, 35. At Vienna, 72. 
At Toulon and elsewhere, 199. 

Artois, Maid of, an opera, composed for 
Madame Malibran, by Balfe, 332. 

Ascot Races, the scene of the, noticed, 
330. 

Austria, its army, 65. Hearts of the im- 
perial family of, 70. Identification of, 
with Vienna, 83. 

Austria Proper, the territory of, 65. Its 
army, 65. 

Austrians, regard of, for the memory of 
Maria Theresa, 71. 

Autographs, in the Bibliotheque Royale, 
at Paris, 299. Reflections suggested 
by, 299. 

Aveugles, Cafe des, in the Palais Royal 
at Paris, described, 236. Its orchestra, 
236. 

Avignon, situation and population of, 
177. Cathedral at, 177. Ecclesiasti- 
cal events connected with, 177. 



B. 



Baden, a watering-place near Vienna, 74. 
The Archduke Charles's country seat 
at, 75. 

Baden-Baden, the fashionable watering- 
place, manner of life and objects of in- 
terest at, 122. Large edifice at, 122. 



350 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Its locality, 123. Ruins of the castle 
near, 123. View of, from the castle, 
123. English lady at, 124. 

Bals masques, where given, 310. Prices 
for admission to the, 310. Character 
of the, at the Academie Royale, 310 ; 
dresses of the ladies, 310 ; of the cav- 
aliers, 311. Character of the, at the 
opera, 311 ; at other theatres, and the 
costumes, 312. The appearance as 
viewed from the deuxi&mesloges, 312. 
Hour of the dispersion, 312. 

Balfe, author of the Maid of Artois, 332. 

Ballet, at the Academie Royale, in Paris, 
unrivalled excellence of the, 7, 238, 
251. Prominent danseuses in the, 238. 
Remarks on Mademoiselle Taglioni's 
performances in the, 254 ; on Made- 
moiselle Duvernay's, 254 ; on Made- 
moiselle Fanny Essler's, 255 ; on Mad- 
ame Augusta's dibut in the, 256. Male 
artistes in the, 256 ; Mazillier, 256 ; 
Montjoie, 257 ; Perrot, 257. 

Ballets, performed at the Academie Roy- 
ale de Musique in Paris, 251 ; La Re- 
volte au Seiail, 251. 

Balzac, author of Le Pere Goriot, 302. 
Personal appearance of, 302. 

Basle, journey to, 129. Arrival at, 131. 
Drei Konige von Coin hotel at, and 
the company, 132. Disappointed trav- 
ellers at 132. The Cathedral in, 134. 
Remarks on, 134. The burial-place 
of Erasmus, 134. 

Beauharnais, Prince Eugene, collec- 
tion of statuary and paintings by, at 
Munich, 94. 

Beauty, remarks on the mysterious nature 
of, 125. American and European com- 
pared, 318. American in Paris. 319. 

Bellini, Vincentio, the success of his La 
Norma 264, 265 ; of his La Somnam- 
bula, 258, 264, 234 ; of his I Puritani, 
262. Honored, 263. Death of, 263. 

Bergs, Hotel des, in Geneva, situation of, 
149. American guests at, 149. 

Berlin, ride to, from Hanover, 35. Beau- 
ty of, 35. The royal palace at, 35. The 
royal museum and the arsenal, 36. 



Linden Street, 36. Public amusements 
in, 37. Theatres, 37. The royal fam- 
ily, 38. The immediate environs of, 



38. 



Charlottenburg, 



near, 38. Re- 



flections on leaving, 45. 

Berne, fellow travellers and events on 
the way to, 134. Scenery in the vi- 
cinity of, 137, 139. Situation and ap- 
pearance of, 137. Gothic Cathedral at, 
138. Promenade there, 138. 

Berri, Madame la Duchesse de, her place 
of residence, 93. Compared with Ma- 
ria Louisa, 93. 

Berri, Due de, assassinated at the Opera 
House in the Rue Richelieu, 241. 

Bezieres, tunnel through a mountain at, 
209. 

Bibliotheque Royale, at Paris, 68. Its 
endowments and situation, 298. Fa- 
cility of access to the, 298. Auto- 
graphs in the, 299. 

Billiards, fondness of the Parisians for, 
290. The expense of playing, in Paris, 
290. Mode of playing, 290. Scien- 
tific nature of the game, 290. 

Bingen, views in the vicinity of, 103. 
Vines cultivated there, 104. 

Black Forest, view of, from the castle 
near Baden, 123. 

Blois, the city of, 218. 

Boatman on the Rhine, account of the, 
108, 112. 

Boats at Marseilles, management and 
construction of the, 187. 

Boieldieu, the composer, anecdote con- 
nected with the funeral obsequies of, 
8. 

Bonaparte. See Napoleon. 

Bonaparte, Jerome, personal appearance 
and dress of, 148. 

Bonn, visit to, 112. University and cabi- 
net of natural curiosities at, 112. 

Boppart, notice of, 116. 

Bordeaux, journey from Toulouse to, 211 . 
Described, 212. The theatre in, de- 
scribed, 212. Cornmillat, 214. Mon- 
taigne's burial-place, 214. The aris- 
tocracy of, 214. The source of its 
wealth, 214. Comparison of, with 



GENERAL INDEX. 



3b 1 



Marseilles, 215. Once a court resi- 
dence, 215. Best mode of travelling 
from, to Paris, 215. 

Boulevards, the crowds on the, during 
the last days of the carnival, 312. 

Bourbon, Palais de, 228. 

Bourgeois, of Paris, their . figure and 
strength, 315. The Garde Nationale, 
mostly composed of, 315. 

Breakfasting houses, in Paris, 282. The 
Cafe Veron, 283. The Cafe d'Orleans, 
283. Time for taking the dejeuner a 
lafourchette 288. 

Bremen, sojourn at, 30. Wine cellar at, 
30. Notice of, 31. 

Bridge across the Moldau, at Prague, 
60. At St. Esprit, 17G. At Tours, 217. 

Broeck, neatness of the village of, 27. 

Brunswick, arrival at, 31. Its architec- 
ture and antiquity, 31. Beautiful walks 
in the environs of, 32. The vault of 
the Brunswick family at, 32. The Du- 
cal Palace at, 32. 

Bulwer, Henry, cited respecting French 
morals, 320. 

Byron, Lord, remark of, 48. His char- 
acter of Gibbon, 143 ; of Voltaire, 1(J2. 



Cafes, at Marseilles, described, 101. Ped- 
leresses in, 192. At Paris, 23G, 281 ; 
des Aveugles, and its orchestra, 23G; 
Veron, 282. Further remarks on Paris- 
ian, 283. Tortoni's, 284. Anglais, 285. 
Estaminet, 289. Music in the, 291 . 

Calais, arrival at, from Paris, 17. 

Canada, prevalence of French character 
in, 128. 

Canal du Midi. See Languedoc Canal. 

Canova, Antonio, his Group of the Gra- 
ces, at Munich, 94. Compared with 
Rubens and RafFaelle, 94. 

Carlsruhe, plan and construction of, 
121. Signification and origin of the 
name, 121. 

Carnival, in Paris, the gayety and amuse- 
ments of the, 310, 312 ; the bat masque, 



310. Crowds and excitement on the 
Boulevards during the last three days 
of the, 312. 

Caroline, consort of George the Fourth, 
her burial-place, 32. 

Carte du restaurant, at Very's, 294. 

Castle near Coblentz described, 105. 
Legend of the, near Nonnenworth, 
109. Built by Charlemagne at Hei- 
delberg, 118. Near Baden, 123. 

Catholic countries, poverty of the people 
and splendor of the churches in, 114. 

Catholic religion, tendency of the, 324. 

Cette, importance and situation of the 
port of, 207. 

Chain for obstructing the navigation of 
the Danube, 72. 

Chamouni, excursion to the Valley of, 
150. Ascent to, 152. View from, 152. 
Reflections respecting, 152. Visiters 
at, 153. Scenery and climate of, 15G. 

Champs Elysees, the pleasure-grounds 
of Paris, 306. Instrumental concerts 
in the, 308. 

Charlatanerie practised atMarseilles,194. 

Charlemagne, ruins of the castle built 
by, at Heidelberg, 118. 

Charlottenburg, once the residence of 
the King of Prussia, 38. The statue 
of Louisa, the late Queen of Prussia 
at, 39. 

Chateau of Sans Souci, at Potsdam, 41 
Of Prince Metternich, at Johannisberg 
102. Of the Tuileries, described, 22G. 

Christianity, skepticism in relation to, 
144. 

Church, the oldest in Germany, 30. 

Cigar-smoking, arrest for, at Osnabruck, 
29. 

Civilization, more conducive to morality 
than simplicity of manners, 77. 

Coblentz, journey to, from Bingen, 105. 
Castle near, described, 105. Evening 
stroll at, 106. Annoyance at, by the 
Prussian police, 107. 

Colmar visited, 129. 

Cologne, notice of,'113. The Cathedral 
at, 113. Tomb of the Three Kings of, 
113. View of, from the Cathedral, 114. 



352 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Rubens's painting of the crucifixion of 
St. Peter at, 115. 

Colors, permanency of, in paintings, 51. 

Comedie Franchise, remarks on the pres- 
ent slate of the, 268. 

Compagnon de voyage, at Heidelberg, 
120. 

Concert, for Madame Malibran's hus- 
band, in London, 333. Talent enlist- 
ed upon the occasion, 333. Prices of 
the tickets for the, 333. Thronged, 
333. Madame Malibran's success on 
the occasion, 334. Incident connected 
with the, 335. See Instrumental Con- 
certs, and Vocal Concerts. 

Coppet, the abode of Necker and Mad- 
ame de Stael, visited, 1C5. 

Cornmill, at Bordeaux, 214. 

Correggio, his Notte and his Magdalen, 
51. Remarks on the colors of his 
paintings, 51. Pecuniary value of his 
paintings, 51. 

Count, notice of the, at the Cafe An- 
glais, 286. 

Covent Garden Theatre, in London, vis- 
ited, 18. Macready's performances at 
the, 332. 

Cretins, described, 90. 



D. 



D'Alembert, autograph of, in the Bibli- 
otheque Royale, at Paris, 299. 

Damoreau, Cinti, Madame, attached to 
the Acadeinie Royale de Musique, at 
Paris, 238. The -prima donna at the 
French Opera, 249. 

Danse, 251. Remarks on the, 256. See 
Ballet. 

Danube, chain for obstructing the navi- 
gation of the, 72. Appearance of the, 
on the road from Vienna to Presburg, 
76. Appearance of the, by moonlight, 
81. 

De Beriot, Carl, the celebrated violinist, 
concert for his benefit, in London, 333. 
Anecdote of, in relation to his wife, 
335. 



De Saussure. See Saussure. 

Dejeuner a la fourchette, its distinctive 
character, 180. At the Cafe Anglais, 
286. The hour of taking the, 288. 

De la Vigne, Casiinir, popularity of his 
dramas at the Theatre Francaise, 271. 
Popularity of his Don Juan d'Au- 
triche, 271 ; analysis of it, 272. Emi- 
nence of, as a dramatist, 304. 

Derivis, attached to the French Opera 
House, at Paris, 238. Remarks on his 
performances, 249. 

Diamonds in the Treasury at Dresden, 

52. At Vienna, 68. 

Diderot, remark by, 136. Autograph of, 
at the Royal Library in Paris, 299. 

Diligence, stop of the, at midnight, 135. 

Dinner, details of a Parisian, at a res- 
taurant, 293. 

Divorces, difficulty of obtaining, in 
France, 323. 

Dorval, Madame, remarks on her acting 
in company with Ligier, 269. 

Don Juan dAutriche, a play, by Casi- 
mir de la Vigne, its popularity, 271. 
Outline of it, 272. 

Drachenfels, the mountain of, ascended, 
111. 

Drei Konige von Coin, 114. Hotel, 
called, 131. 

Dresden, 48. Gallery of paintings in, 
49. Jewel office or treasury at, 52. 
Porcelain, 53. The head-quarters of 
Napoleon, during the Saxon campaign, 

53. Environs of, 54. View from a 
fortress near, 54. Scenery about, 55. 
Architecture of, 55. The principal 
church in, and its music, 55. The 
Elbe at, and its banks, 56. Amuse- 
ments in, 56. Character of the people 
of, 57. 

Dress, ideas of the French as to, 314. 
Character of, in Paris, 314. 

Dresses at the masked balls at the Acad- 
einie Royale, 310 ; at the other thea- 
tres, 312. 

Drury Lane Theatre, in London, visited, 
18. Madame Malibran at the, 332. 

Ducal Palace at Brunswick, 32. 



GENERAL INDEX. 



353 



Dutch, cleanliness of the, 24. Their 
amusements, 25. Their appearance, 25. 

Dutch Painters, 25. Remarks on their 
subjects, 26. Compared with Italian, 
26. 

Duvernay, Mademoiselle, attached to the 
Academie Roy ale de Musique, at 
Paris, 233. Remarks on her personal 
appearance and performances, 254. 



Education, of a French demoiselle of 
good family particularized, 320. Neg- 
lect of, in Europe, 323. See Ignorance. 

Ehrenbreitstein, notice of a visit to the 
fortress of, 106. Jealousy of the Prus- 
sian government at, 106. 

Elbe, the river, and its banks, at Dres- 
den, 56. 

Elegant, notice of the Parisian, 314. 

Elster River and its vicinity, 47. 

Enfer, L', a scene in La Tentation, de- 
scribed, 244. 

English garden, near Munich, 96. 

English singers, contrasted with the 
Italian, 6. 

English travellers, remarks on, 339. 

Englishman, the Parisian compared with 
the, 11. His hospitality, 336. His 
respect for America, 337. The well- 
bred, described, 337. His fierti, 337. 
Remarks on his reserve, 337. 

Erasmus, the burial-place of, 134. 

Essler, Fanny, 7, 238; exceeds Mademoi- 
selle Taglioni in brilliancy of execu- 
tion, 254. Remarks on her personal 
appearance and peculiar style, 255. 

Estaminet, the Cafe, its characteristics, 
239. Billiard playing at, 290. Eca.rti 
at, 291. The domino at, 291. Music 
there, 291. 

Eugine, a skilful billiard player, in Par- 
is, 290. 



F. 



Falcon, Mademoiselle, attached to the 
Academie Royale, at Paris, 238. Sue- 

45 



cessful in Halevy's La Juive, 246. 
Remarks respecting, 250. 

Fay, Leontine. See Volnys. 

Ferney, visit to Voltaire's residence at, 
161. The old gardener at, 162. Ob- 
jects of interest there, 163. 

Fourchette. See Ddjeitner a la. 

Francais, Theatre, in Paris, remarks on 
the, and on the actors, 268. Plays 
now popular there, 271. 

France, exile of the Bonapartes from, 
149. The happy South of, 177. Igno- 
rance in the South of, 185, 194. 

Frankfort, journey to, from Munich, 97. 
Reflections upon arriving at, 98. His- 
torical associations with, 98. Remarks 
on the city and its inhabitants, 99. Visit 
to the opera at, 99. The bridge at, 
100. Without liberty, 100. Gardens 
there, 101. 

Frederic the Great, King of Prussia, the 
private room of, at Potsdam, as left by 
him, 40. Intimacy of, with Voltaire, 
40, 164. Death of, at Sans Souci, 41. 
Interest of the Prussians in, 43. Visit 
to the church where his ashes rest, 43. 
Remarks on, 164. 

French, avarice not a national vice of 
the, 16. Fortunes of the, small, 16. 
Fondness of, for theatrical exhibitions, 
279. Character of their pleasures, 
308. The charge of their being a na- 
tion of dancers and music-masters con- 
sidered, 313. Their personal appear- 
ance and dress, 314. See Parisians. 

French drama, De la Vigne and Scribe 
the most celebrated writers of, 304. 

French government, open and enlight- 
ened policy of the, in regard to letters, 
298, 300. 

French ladies, elevation of the, in soci- 
ety, 317. Their personal appearance, 
317. Beauty of the, compared with 
American, 318. Their moral charac- 
ter considered, 320. Henry Bulwer 
cited, as to the, 320. Sketch of the 
early education of, 320. Marriages of 
the, 321. Married life among, 321. 

French language, plays performed in the, 



354 



GENERAL INDEX. 



at Berlin, 37. Necessity of an ac- 
quaintance with, there, 37. Faint re- 
semblance to the, in the language 
6poken at Marseilles, 200. Purity of the 
at Blois and Tours, 218. Its richness 
in the phraseology of love, 323. Its 
barrenness as to domestic life, 324. 

French libraries, 10,68. TheBibliotheque 
Royale, 298. Easy access to, 298, 300. 
Contents of the circulating, 301 ; the 
me'moiresin them, 301. 

French Opera House, operas there repre- 
sented, 241. Robert le Diable, by 
Mayerbeer, 241, 242; its popularity, 
and Nourrit's success in the idle of the 
Devil Prince in it, 242. La Tentation, 
a ballet-opera, represented there, 244 ; 
the L'Enfer in it, 244. Halevy's La 
Juive represented there, 24G; remarks 
on it, 246. Les Huguenots, by May- 
erbeer, represented at, 248. Remarks 
on the artistes, 248. Masked balls at 
the, 311, 312 See Academie Royale 
de Musique. 



G. 



Gaiete, Theatre de, Scribe's pieces re- 
presented at the, 304. 
Galignani, Messieurs, the library of the, 

300. Their Messenger, 300. Their 

reading-room, 301. 
Gallery of paintings at Amsterdam, 25. 

At Dresden, 49. In the Louvre, at 

Paris, 229. See Paintings. 
Gambling, the passion for, in Paris, 14 ; 

at Wiesbaden, 101 ; at Baden-Baden, 

122. 
Garcia, Signorina. See Malibran. 
Garcon, la vie en, in Paris, described, 

282. The neatness and service of the, 

in the cafes, 283, 285. 
Garde, Nationale, at Paris, composed 

mostly of the French bourgeoisie, 315. 

Contrasted with the troops of the line, 

315. Their average height, 315. 
Garden of the Tuileries. See Tuileries. 



Garonne, bridge across the, at Toulouse, 
210. Tower for the distribution of its 
waters through Toulouse, 210. 
Gastronomy, esteem for professors of, in 

Paris, 13. 
Geisenheim, views in the vicinity of, 

103. Its situation, 103. 
Geneva, Rousseau cited respecting the 
Lake of, and its environs, 142. Pas- 
sage on the Lake, 147. American 
guests at the Hotel des Bergs in, 149. 
Excursion from, to the valley of Cha- 
mouni, 150. Commercial character 
and picturesqueness of, 167. The in- 
habitants of, 168. 

Genius, reflections on, 139. 

Georges, Mademoiselle, success of, in 
tragedy, 274. Her personal appear- 
ance and style of acting, 275. 

Germans, character of the amusements 
of, 62. Their promenades and gardens, 
62. Their orchestral music, 63. Seri- 
ous and sentimental, 74. Fondness of, 
for music, 74. Phlegmatic, 100. Con- 
trasted with Frenchmen, 100. 

Gibbon, Edward, abode of, at Lausanne, 
143. Character of, sketched by a poet, 
143. Contrasted with Rousseau, 144. 

Girlhood, in the higher classes of society 
in Paris, 320. 

Gold, enlightening effects of, on politi- 
cians, 173. 

Golden Fleece, the insignia of the order 
of, at Vienna, 68. 

Golden Stag House, at Munich, 92. 

Grapes, cultivation of, at Johannisberg, 
102; in the vicinity of Geisenheim, 
104; of Bordeaux, 214. 

Gras, Dorus, Madame, attached to the 
French Opera House at Paris, 238. 
Remarks respecting her singing and 
her personal appearance, 250. 

Gretry, the heart of, 323. 

Grignon's Restaurant at Paris, 293. 

Grisi, Giulia, Mademoiselle, her person- 
al advantages and physical power, 5. 
Her performance of Anna Bolena, 6. 
Her personification of La Norma, 6, 



GENERAL INDEX. 



355 



205. Beauty of, 264. An exquisite 
singer, 265. Remarks on her acting, 
2C5. Second only to Madame Mali- 
bran, 333. At a concert for De Beriot, 
333. Her duett with Madame Mali- 
bran, 334. 

Gros, Baron, his painting of the dome of 
the Pantheon at Paris, 225. 

Grotto, discovered by De Saussure in 
Savoy, 157. 

Gymnase, remarks on the, 275. The 
home of the comedy in Paris, 276. 
Scribe's pieces represented there, 304. 



H. 

Halevy, his La Juive performed at 
the Academie Royale. 242. Gorgeous- 
ness of its scenery, 246. Time re- 
ferred to, in the plot, 246. Remarks 
respecting it, 247. 

Hallein, salt works of, visited and de- 
scribed, 88. 

Hanover, visited, 33. Objects of interest 
at, 33. The theatre, 33. Government 
of, 34. 

Havre de Grace, notice of, 2. Return 
to, from Paris, 328. 

Hearts of the imperial family of Austiia, 
70. Of Gretry, 328. 

Heidelberg, romantic situation of, 118. 
Charlemagne's castle at, 118. View 
of, from a terrace, 120. 

Helo'ise, La Nouvelle, a romance, by 
Rousseau, 140. 

Herold, popularity of his Pre aux Clercs, 
278. 

Herz, Henri, an eminent pianist, present 
at De Beriot's concert, 333. 

Hugo, Victor, tragedy by, 274. The 
popularity of Notre Dame de Paris 
by, 302. 

Huguenots, Les, by Mayerbeer, repre- 
sented at the Academie Royale, 242, 
248. 

Hungarians, notice of the, 77. Present 
character of the, 79. 

Hyde Park, in London, visited, 331. 



I. 



Ices, the sale of, at the cafes in Paris, 
284. Tortoni's, 284. 

Ignorance among the inhabitants of 
Southern France, 185. Among the 
lower classes in European cities, 
323. 

Imperial Library, at Vienna, 67. 

Instrumental Concerts, popularity of, in 
Paris, 305. Given in the open air, 
305. Prices for admission to, 306. At- 
tendance on, at evening, 306. Given 
in the Champs Elysees d'Hiver, 308. 
Musard's, 308. 

Intemperance, infrequency of, in France, 
181, 322. 

Italian Opera, superiority of the, in Paris, 
5, 237. Not opened on the same night 
with the French, 241. Remarks on 
the artistes, 258. Excellence of the 
orchestra, 259. 

Italian Painters, Dutch compared with, 
26. Remarks on the, 231. 

Italian Singers, at the Opera, in Paris, 5. 
Their different successes at Paris and 
London, 6. Contrasted with English 
and other European singers, 6. See 
Italian Opera. 

Ivanhoff, a Russian, connected with the 
Italian Opera in Paris, 260. Remarks 
on, 264. At a concert in London, 333. 

J. 

Jamieson, Mrs., remark of, respecting 
Paris, 14. 

Johannisberg, beauty of, 102. The Cha- 
teau of Prince Metternich at, 102. Its 
grapes and wines, 102. 

Juif, Errant, at the Ambigu Comique, 
in Paris, 277. Success and notice of 
the play, 277. 

Juive, La, an opera by Halevy, 242. 
Gorgeous scenic display of, 246. Pe- 
riod referred to in the plot, 246. Re- 
marks respecting it, 247. 

Julie, character of, by Rousseau, 140. 



356 



GENERAL INDEX. 



K. 



King's Box, in the theatre at Berlin, 38. 

At the Academie Royale, 240. 
King's Theatre, in London, remarks on 

the assemblage at, IS. Its aristocratic 

character, 19. 
Kock, Paul de, 13. His novels, 303; 

difficulty of successfully translating 

them, 303. 
Kursaal, a building at Wiesbaden, 101. 



Lablache, Signor, of the Italian Opera 
at Paris, 5. His personal appearance, 

259. Characteristics of his perform- 
ances, 259. His comic verve, as dis- 
played in La Prova d'un Opera Seria, 

260. His success in I Puritani, 262. 
At a concert in London, 333. 

Ladies, French and American, 318. 
Lafont, attached to the Academie Royale 
de Musique, 238. Remarks on his 
performances, 249. 
Land, sensations upon beholding, at the 

termination of a voyage, 1, 340. 
Languedoc Canal, described, 208. The 
route along the, 209. Passes through 
a tunnelled mountain, 209. Mode of 
travelling and sleeping on the, 209. 
Lannes, burial-place of, 223. 
Laura, immortalized by Petrarch, 180. 

Column to the memory of, 180. 
Lausanne, approach to, 139. The abode 
of Rousseau, 139 ; of Gibbon, 143. 
Confused and irregular appearance of, 
145. Prospect from, 145. 
Leipsic, promenades in, 46. Site of the 

battle of, 46. Attractions of, 48. 
Leman, Lake, 167. 

Levasseur, primo basso to the Academie 
Royale de Musique at Paris, 238. Re- 
marks on his style of singing, 249. 
Libraries, the Imperial, at Vienna, 67. 
The Vatican, 68. The Royal, at Paris, 
68, 298, 300. Easy of access to stran- 
gers, 298, 300. Circulating, at Paris, 
301. 



Ligier, the first of French tragedians, 
observations on his acting, 268. Re 
mark applied to, 269. Success of, in 
a play with Madame Dorval, 269 ; in 
Don Juan d'Autriche, 274. 

Linden Street, at Berlin, beauty of, 36. 

Line, French troops of the, at Paris, 315. 

Lintz, notice of, 86. Its fortifications, 
86. 

Literary facilities for strangers in Paris, 
10, 298, 300. 

Loire, quay on the, from Argennes to 
Tours, 217. Described, 218. Route 
along the, 218. 

London, arrival at, 17. Places in, vis- 
ited, 17, 330. St. Paul's Church, 18. 
Theatres in, 18, 332. The King's 
Theatre, 18. Departure from, 19. 
Drive from Portsmouth to, 330. Per- 
formers in the theatres at, 332. Con- 
cert there for De Beriot, 333. Life in, 
336. Respect for America there, 337. 

Louis the Fourteenth, his visits to the 
Swiss cottages in the gardens of the 
Lesser Trianon, 327, note. 

Louis, King of Bavaria, exertions of, to 
beautify and improve Munich, 96. 

Louisa, the late Queen of Prussia, statue 
of, at Charlottenburg, 38. Her death, 
and the effect of it on the King, 38. 
Attachment of the Prussians to her 
memory, 38. 

Louvre, palace of the, described, 229. 
Gallery of paintings in the, 229. Mu- 
seum of the, enriched by paintings 
and sculpture during Napoleon's wars, 
230. 
Lyons, journey to, 172. Situation of, 
175. Connexion of, with the United 
States, 175. 

M. 

Macready, performing Talfourd's Ion at 
Covent Garden Theatre, 332. 

Madonna of Raffaelle, in the gallery of 
paintings at Dresden, 49. 

Magdalen, the painting of, by Correggio, 
51. 



GENERAL INDEX. 



357 



Magdeburg, strength of, 34. 

Maid of Artois, an opera composed for 
Madame Malibran, by Balfe, 332. 

Maison Carree, at Nismes, 183. Uses 
made of it, 184. 

Malibran, Madame, allusion to her fate, 
5, 2G3. Her acting in the Maid of Ar- 
tois, 332. Her delivery of the Finale, 
332. Concert for her husband's bene- 
fit, 333. Her familiarity with differ- 
ent languages, 334. Her duett, with 
Mademoiselle Grisi, 334. The pathos 
of her tones, 334. Slight incident 
respecting, 335. Her personal appear- 
ance, 335. 

Malle Poste, travelling by, 215. 

Manheim, visit to, 118. 

Maria Theresa, her private apartment in 
the Imperial Palace at Vienna, 71. 
Austrian attachment to her memory, 
71. 

Marriage, engagements for, in France, 
321. Introductory to liberty, 321. 
Difficulty of annulling the bonds of, in 
France, 323. 

Mars, Mademoiselle, the pride of the old 
French comedy, 270. Her personal 
appearance and style of acting, 270. 
Her personation of Valerie, 270. 

Marseillais, laisser aller character of the, 
193. Ignorance of the, 193. Charla- 
tanerie among them, 193. Their fickle 
and insubordinate disposition consid- 
ered, 200. Their language, 200. Stat- 
ure and physiognomy of the, 201. 

Marseilles, peculiar and picturesque as- 
pect of, 187. The Quai at, 187. 
Pleasure-boats there, 187. Paucity of 
public edifices in, 189; of paintings, 
and the cause of it, 189. The Old 
Town, 190. The New Town, 190. 
Beauty of the streets, 190. Amuse- 
ments at, in the warm season, 191. 
The cafes and their concomitants, 
191; pedleresses iu them, 192. A 
charlatan at, described, 194. The Tir 
au Pistolet, 195. Montagnes Russes, 
195. Beauty of the women of, 201. 
Bordeaux compared with, 215. 



Masked balls. See Bals masque's. 

Masks, worn at fancy balls, in Paris, at 
the time of the carnival, 310. Worn 
in the streets, 312. 

Massaniello, performance of the opera 
of, at Prague, 62; at Paris, 241. 

Mayence, notice of, 117. The cathedral, 
117. 

Mayerbeer, performance of his Robert le 
Diable, at Vienna, 84 ; at the Academie 
Royale, in Paris, 241. Its popularity. 
242. Nourrit's success in the rdle of 
the Devil Prince, 242. Grand display 
of scenic effect in the third act of it, 
242. His Les Huguenots, 242. 

Mazillier, sustains a character in La Re- 
volte au Serail, 252. 

Meals, custom respecting, in the south 
of France, 181 ; in Paris, 181, 286,288, 
293. 

Medical school at Montpellier, 205. 

Mediterranean Sea, first view of the, 
186. Translucency of its waters at 
Toulon, 197, and note. Without tides, 
197, note. 

Memoires, commonness of, in French 
circulating libraries, 301 . Their char- 
acter, 301. 

Mer de Glace, view of, 154. 

Metternich, Prince, Prime Minister of 
Austria, diplomacy of, 65, 75. His 
Chateau at Johannisberg, 102. 

Military, high standing of the, at Berlin, 
37 ; in Austria, 65. 

Military exercises at Potsdam, notice of, 
41. 

Mines, descent into the, at Hallein, 
88. 

Moldau, the river, at Prague, 60. 

Monkey, trick practised with the, at 
Marseilles, 193. 

Montagnes Russes, ride down the, de- 
scribed, 195. 

Montaigne, burial-place of, at Bordeaux, 
214. 

Montanvert, ascent of, 153. View from, 
154. Descent from, 155. 

Mont Blanc, excursion towards, 150. 
Reflections on the ascending of, 155. 



358 



GENERAL INDEX 



De Saussure's discoveries respecting, 
156. 

Montebello, ship of the line, at Toulon, 
described, 198. 

Montessu, compared with Mademoiselle 
Taglioni, 254. 

Montjoie, remarks on his appearance and 
performances, 257. 

Montmorency, associations with, 327. 
Hermitage of Rousseau at, 327. 

Montpellier, skies and airs of, 203. El- 
evated site of, 204. Promenades 
there, 204. Ancient pile near, 205. 
Medical school at, 205. Visit to Nar- 
cissa's grave at, 206. Cette the port 
of, 206. 

Morals, of the northern and southern 
districts of Germany, 57. Civilization 
more favorable to, than primitive sim- 
plicity, 77. Of the Viennese, consid- 
ered, 84. Of the Swiss, 170. Of the 
Marseillaises, 202. Of the French la- 
dies, considered, 320, 322. Of Euro- 
pean cities, 322. Of France compared 
with other countries, 324. Tendency 
of the Roman Catholic religion in re- 
gard to, 324. 

Moreau, General, place of his death, 53. 
Notice of his character, 54. 

Moustache, the training of the, among 
the European soldiery, 64. Sported by 
the Parisian 6Ugant, 314. 

Munich, arrival at, 92. The Golden 
Stag House at, 92. Diversions there 
for the Queen Mother of Naples, 92. 
Remarks on, 93. Canova's group of 
the Graces at, 94. Churches in, 94. 
Palaces, 95. The theatre there, 95. 
Performance of Der Freischutz at, 95. 
The English garden in, 96. 

Musard's, instrumental concerts at, 308. 
Masked balls at, 310. 

Music, commonness of, in Germany, 47, 
74. The orchestral, in Germany, 63. 
Character of the legitimate German, 
84. Fondness of the Parisians for, 
280. See Acadimie Royale de Musique 
and Concerts. 



N. 



Name, custom of inscribing the, on the 
turret-walls of the cathedral at Stras- 
burg, 128. Rude inscription of the 
writer's, on the Pont du Gard, 185. 

Naples, the Queen Mother of, at Mu- 
nich, 92. Diversions contrived for, 
92. Personal appearance of, 92. Ob- 
ject and character of her excursion to 
Germany, 93. 

Naples, hired services of the Swiss in, 
169. 

Napoleon, triumphal arch of, 3, 9. Al- 
lusions to, 9, 222. Enthusiasm of the 
Parisians for, 9. Reflections on his 
greatness, 148. 

Narcissa, extract from Young's Night 
Thoughts respecting, 205. The grave 
of, visited and described, 206. 

National Guard. See Garde Rationale. 

Necker, the abode of, at Coppet, 165. 

Nelson, Lord, falls in the arms of Victo- 
ry, 330. Reflections on his death, 330. 

Nemours, Duke of, 240. 

Night, on travelling by, 130. 

Nismes, population, situation, and trade 
of, 182. Buildings at, 182. The an- 
cient amphitheatre there, and reflec- 
tions on it, 182. The Maison Carree 
there, 183. Aqueduct of the Pont du 
Gard near, 184. 

Nonnenworth, the beauty of, and its con- 
vent, 109. Legend respecting a castle 
near, 110. 

Norma, La, success of Giulia Grisi in, 6, 
265. 

Notre Dame, the cathedral of, described, 
220. The bell on, 221. Situation of, 
222. 

Notre Dame de Paris, a romance by Vic- 
tor Hugo, its popularity and celebrity, 
302. 

Notte, a painting by Correggio, 51. 

Nourrit, a French artiste, attached to the 
French Opera House, 238. His suc- 
cess in the rdle of the Devil Prince in 



GENERAL INDEX. 



359 



Mayerbeer's Robert le Diable, 242; in 
Halevy's La Juive, 246. Remarks on 
his peculiar style and personal appear- 
ance, 246. His yearly pension, 248. 
Novel, the most popular writers of the, 
in France, 302; Victor Hugo, 302; 
Balzac, 302 ; Paul de Kock, 303. Pe- 
culiar character of the French, 303. 



O. 



Odeon, a theatre in Paris, remarked on, 
278. 

Oels, Duke of Brunswick, his burial- 
place, 32. 

Opera, superiority of the, in Paris, 6, 2C6. 
Artists attached to the, at L'Academie 
Royale de Musique, 238. Seldom at- 
tended by the royal family, 240. Rea- 
son for dwelling on the, 267. See 
French Opera and Italian Opera. 

Opera Comique, in Paris, remarks on 
the, 278. 

Orchestra, music of the, in Germany, 63. 
At the Cafe des Aveugles, in the Pa- 
lais Royal, at Paris, described, 236. 
Excellence of the, at the Italian Opera, 
259. 

Orleans, objects of interest at, 319. 

Orleans, Duke of, 240. 

Orleans, Passage d',in the Palais Royal, 
at Paris, splendid appearance of, at 
evening, 234. 

Osnabruck, journey to, 28. Notice of, 
28. Its bombardment, 28. View from 
the ramparts of, 29. Strictness of the 
authorities at, 29. Arrest there, for 
cigar-smoking, 29. 



P. 



Paganini, the magician of fiddlers, 333. 

Paintings, remarks on Dutch, 24 ; on the 
permanency of colors in Correggio's, 
51. Cause of the fewness of, at Mar- 
seilles, ]89. French and Italian, com- 
pared, 230. See Gallery of Paintings. 

Palais Royale, visited, 4, 232. History of 



the, 232. Its magnificent area and 
promenades, 232. Tenants of the, 
233. The promenade circumscribing 
the court, 233. The Passage d'Or- 
leans in the, described, 234 ; its splen- 
did appearance atevening, 234. Glance 
at the principal features of the, 234. 
Variety and brilliancy of its magasins 
and cafe's, 235. The Cafe des Aveu- 
gles in, 236. Atmosphere of gayety 
about it, 237 ; its effect on the feelings, 
238. 

Pantheon, at Paris, description of the, 
223. Inscription on the frieze of its 
portico, 223. Tombs of Voltaire, 
Rousseau, and Lannes, in the, 223. 
Echo in the, 224. Its situation, 224. 
View from its top, 224. Its dome and 
painting in fresco, 225. 

Paris, approach to, from Rouen, 3. The- 
atres in, 5, 238. L'Academie Royale 
de Musique in, 5, 238. The peculiar at- 
traction of, 6. Superiority of the op- 
era in, 5, 267. Attachment of Paris- 
ians to, 7. Courtesy to strangers in, 
8, 298. Described, 8. Monuments of 
antiquity in, 9. Unites the graces of 
ancient and modern architecture, 10. 
Sources of gratification in, 10. Sched- 
ule of a day in, 13. Mrs. Jamie- 
son's remark respecting, 14. Depar- 
ture from, 17. Journey from Bordeaux 
to, 216. Notre Dame in, 220. Church- 
es in, 222. The Pantheon, 223. View 
of, from the top of the Pantheon, 224. 
Palaces in, 226, 232. The Tuileries, 
226. View of, from the Place de Rev- 
olution, 227. Palace of the Louvre in, 
228. Gallery of paintings in the 
Louvre at, 229. The Palais Royal 
in, described, 232. The Ballet in, 
251. The Italian Opera in, 257. The 
Theatre Francois in, 268 ; de la Porte 
St. Martin, 274. Lukewarmness as to 
religion in, 277. The Gymnase, and 
other theatres in, 278. Ten thousand 
students in, 279. Support of theatres 
in, 279. The cafe's in, 281. The ho- 
tels, 281. Mode of living in, 281. 



360 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Restaurants in, 281, 291. La vie en 
gargon there, 282. Breakfasting houses 
in, 282. Playing of billiards, 290. 
Favorable to literary men, 298, 300. 
The Bibliotheque Royale, in, 298. 
Circulating libraries, 300. Concerts 
of instrumental music in, 305. The 
carnival, 310. The bal masqu6 in, 
310. The crowds and excitement on 
the Boulevards during the last days of 
the carnival, 312. The iligant in, 
314. The bourgeois and National 
Guard of, 315. American beauty in, 
319. Moral atmosphere of, 320. In- 
frequency of inebriation and profane- 
ness there, 322. Other objects of in- 
terest in, 326. Departure from, and 
reflections thereupon, 328. 

Parisians, attachment of, to Paris, 7. 
Enthusiasm of, for Napoleon, 9. Man- 
ners and character of, 10. Compared 
with Englishmen, 11. Their passion 
for gambling, 14 ; for theatrical ex- 
hibitions, 279 ; for music, 280 ; for 
billiards, 290. Foreign prejudices re- 
specting them, considered, 313. Their 
ideas as to dress, 314. Their charac- 
ter, 315. Glory and pleasure the two 
idols of, 316. Their sense of honor, 
316. Selfish, 316. See French. 

Passage d'Orleans, its splendid appear- 
ance at evening, 234. 

Patois, spoken at Marseilles, 200. 

Pedleresses, at the Marseilles' cafes, 
described, 192. 

People's Garden. See Folks- Garten. 

Perrot, a danseur, the easy agility and 
ugliness of, 257. 

Peslh, steamboat voyage to, 77. Royal 
palace near, 78. Reflections on, 78. 
Its buildings and architecture, 79. 
The Jager-Horn hotel and the guests 
at, 80. Theatre there, 81. Wagon 
ride from, to Vienna, 81. 

Peter the Great, house occupied by, near 
Amsterdam, 23, 27. 

Petrarch, Vaucluse the residence of, 
179. His genius and passion, 180. 

Picture Gallery. See Paintings. 



Plantes, the Jardin des, 7. 
Poictiers, town and battle of, 216. 
Police, examination by the, upon passing 
from Switzerland into France, 172. 
Effects of gold upon the, 173, 329. 
Examination by the, at Portsmouth, 
329. 
Pompadour, Madame la Marquise, mis- 
tress of Louis the Fifteenth, 277. Her 
visits to the Swiss cottages in the 
gardens of the Lesser Trianon, 327, 
note. 
Poniatowski, Prince, death of, and mon- 
ument to, 47. 
Pont du Gard, aqueduct of the, near 
Nismes, 184. Inscription on the, by 
a rustic artist, 185. 
Popes buried at Avignon, 177. 
Porcelain, notice of the Dresden, 53. 
Porte St. Martin, Theatre de la, trage- 
dies performed there, 274. 
Portsmouth, in England, arrival at, from 
France, 328. Police examination there, 
329. Visit to the packet office at, 
329. The Victory at, and Lord Nel- 
son, 329. Excursion from, to London, 
330. 
Potsdam, ride to, from Berlin, 39. Palaces 
at, 40. The private room of Frederic 
the Great at, 40. Account of the new 
palace in, 40. Military exercises at, 
41. Death of Frederic the Great 
there, 41. Chateau of Sans Souci in, 
41. Frederic the Great's burial-place, 
43. 
Potter, Paulus, an eminent Dutch paint- 
er, 25, and note. 
Poultry, particulars respecting French, 

295. 
Prague, ride to, from Dresden, 58. 
Schwarze Ross hotel at, and its com- 
pany, 58. Its tranquillity, 59. Reflec- 
tions on the battle of, 59. The bridge 
across the Moldau at, 60. Islands 
near, and rifle-shooting, 60. The 
promenade there, 61. Drive about the 
environs of, 61. Display of soldiery 
at, 64. 
Prater, a promenade at Vienna, 72. 



GENERAL INDEX. 



361 



Pre aux Clercs, by Herold, popularity 
of, 278. 

Presburg, excursion to, 76. Notice of, 
and of its inhabitants, 76. 

Princes, Hotel des, at Paris, 4. 

Profaneness, infrequency of, in Paris, 
322. 

Protestant America, reflections on, 324. 

Prova d' un' Opera Seria, Lablache's 
success in, 260. Humorous scene in 
it, 2G0. Conclusion of the piece, 201. 

Prussia, the Royal Family of, 38. Pop- 
ularity of the King, 38. Incident 
illustrating the jealousy of the govern- 
ment of, 107. 

Prussians, hatred of, towards the French, 
37. Their attachment to their King, 
38; to the memory of the late Queen, 
Louisa, 313. 

Pucelle d'Orleans, La, patriotism of, 
219. 

Puritani, I, by Bellini, its success, 262. 



q. 



Quack medicines, vending of, at Mar- 
seilles, 194. 

Quai, at Marseilles, animated appearance 
of the, 187. On the Loire from Ar- 
gennes to Tours, 217. 



R. 



Raffaelle, the painter, notice of his Ma- 
donna, 49. Canova compared with, 
94. His Transfiguration, 231. 

Reserve, remarks respecting, in aristo- 
cratic countries, 337. Cause of, in 
London, 338. 

Restaurants, bands of music stationed in 
the German, 74. The Parisian, 281. 
The most celebrated in Paris, 291 . 
Very's, described, 292, 293. The 
Rocher de Cancale, 292. The Cafe 
de Paris, 292. Grignon's, 293. 

Reunions. See Bals Masqur s and Con- 
cert. 

Revolte au Serail, a ballet performed at 

46 



the Academie Royale de Musique in 
Paris, 251. Analysis of it. 252. 

Rhine, rapidity of the, at Bingen, 104. 
Passage down the, and account of the 
boatman, 108. Excursion to Mayence 
on the, 1]6. 

Rhone, steamboat passage down the, 17G. 
Bridge over the, at Sf. Esprit, 176. 

Richelieu, the Palais Royal commenced 
under the auspices of, 232. 

Rifle shooting near Prague, 60. 

Robert le Diable, by Mayerbcer, per- 
formance of, at the Academie Royale 
in Paris, 241. Its popularity and ab- 
sorbing interest, 242, 244. The rdle 
of the Devil Prince, Nourrit's chef- 
d'oeuvre, 242. Scenic effect in the 
third act, 242. 

Rocher de Cancale, a restaurant in Paris, 
particulars respecting the, 292. 

Romance. See JVovel. 

Rotterdam, departure from London for, 
19. Arrival at, 21. Ride from to 
Amsterdam, 22. 

Rouen, passage to, from Havre de Grace, 
2. Commissionaires at, 2. The Hotel 
d'Angleterre, 2. The cathedral there, 2. 
Notice of, 3. Distance of, from Paris, 3. 

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, reflections on, 
139. Remarks on his character and 
writings, 140. His Julio, 140. Cited 
respecting the Lake of Geneva and its 
environs, 142. Gibbon contrasted with, 
144. Tomb of, 223. Autograph of, 
in the Royal Library at Paris, 299. 
Hermitage of, at Montmorency, 327. 

Royal Arsenal, at Toulon, 199. 

Library. See BibHuthi que Royale. 

Museum, at Berlin, 36. 

Palace, at Berlin, 35. See Palais 



Royal. 

Rubens, Peter Paul, remarks on his 
paintings, 26. Canova compared with, 
94. Painting of the crucifixion of St. 
Peter by, 115. 

Rubini, first tenor in Europe, remarks 
on his style of singing and pathos, 5, 
248, 258. His excellence in La Som- 
nambula, 258. At a concert, 333. 



362 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Rudesheim, cultivation of vines at, 104. 

View from ruins near, 104 
Russian mountains. See Montagnes 

Russes. 



s. 



Saardam, cottage in the dockyard of, oc- 
cupied by Peter the Great, 23, 27. 

Sail-boats at Marseilles, 188. 

St. Cloud and its Chateau, 326. 

St. Esprit, the bridge at, 176. Its mag- 
nificence and durability, 176. 

St. Paul's church, in London, visit to, 
and remarks on, 18. 

St. Peter, Rubens's painting of the cruci- 
fixion of, 115. Allusion to the church 
of, at Rome, 347. 

St. Stephen's church, at Vienna, 69. 

Salt Works at Hallein, visited and de- 
scribed, 88. 

Saltsburg, arrival at, 87. Situation of, 
87. Emblems of war and religion in, 
87. The chapel at, 87. Scenery in 
the vicinity of, 90. Large numbers of 
Cretins in the vicinity of, 90. Ob- 
jects of interest at, 91. Gardens and 
statues, 91. 

Sans Souci Chateau, visit to and notice 
of, 41. The favorite residence of Fred- 
eric the Great, 42. 

Saussure, De, a Swiss naturalist, remarks 
on his ascent of Mont Blanc, 156. 
Grotto discovered by, 157. 

Savoy, scenery in, 151. 

Saxe, tomb and monument in honor of, 
at Strasburg, 126. 

Saxe Suisse, romantic scenery of, 55. 

Saxony, royal family of, 56. 

Scenery, natural, reflections on viewing 
at sunset, 120. 

Schoenbrunn, notice of the palace of, 
near Vienna, 71. The chateau of, 71. 

Scribe, the most celebrated vaudcvilliste 
in France at the present day, 304. The 
writer of the paroles in the grand ope- 
ras, and of successful petites comedies, 
304. Comedictte on the American 
stage, borrowed from, 304. 



Skepticism, reflections on, 144. 

Smoking cigars, arrest for, at Osnabruck, 
29. 

Soldiery, display of, at Potsdam, 41 ; at 
a military funeral at Prague, 04. The 
moustache of the, 64. Remarks on 
French, 315. 

Somnambula, La, an opera, Rubini's suc- 
cess in, 258. Madame Malibran's per- 
formance of Amina in, 334. 

Stadt Haus, at Amsterdam, 24. 

Stael, Madame de, Coppet the residence 
of, 165. Reflections on, 165. 

Statues, Roman, at Toulouse, 210. In 
the garden of the Tuileries, 227. Gre- 
cian, 230. 

Strangers, courtesy to, in Paris, 8. Lite- 
rary facilities for, at Paris, 10, 298, 300. 

Strasburg, notice of the city and its pop- 
ulation, 126. Its cathedral and the 
spire, 126. View of, from the cathe- 
dral, 127. Predominance of German 
character at, 128. 

Strauss, the German musician, 74. 

Sunset, on viewing nature at, 120. 

Swiss, remark as to the morality of the, 
77, 170. Present degeneracy of the, 
169. Military, 189. 

Swiss cottages, in the gardens of Lesser 
Trianon, at Paris, 327. Resorted to 
by Louis the Fourteenth, 327, note. 

Switzerland, a disappointed traveller's re- 
marks on the scenery of, 132. Scene- 
ry of, near Berne, 136, 139; near 
Geneva, 150; in Savoy, 150; at Cha- 
mouni, 156. Without distinct individ- 
ual character, 168. Present fallen con- 
dition of, 168. Hopelessness of her 
recovery, 170. 



T. 



Taglioni, Mademoiselle, 7. At the head 
of the corps de ballet at the Academie 
Roy ale, 238. Her success in La Re vol- 
te au Serail, 252, 257 ; in La Sylphide, 
253 Her personal appearance, 253. Re- 
marks on her movements in the dansc, 
254. Compared with other artistes, 



GENERAL INDEX. 



.;<;:; 



254. Her character, 255. Her hus- 
band, 255. Engagement of, at St. Pe- 
tersburg, 255. 
Talma, the tragedian, remark on, '269. 
Tamburini, the singer, 5, 2G2. His rapid 
vocalization, 262. His performance in 
I Puritani, 262. At a concert in 
London, 323. 
Tentation, La, a ballet-opera represented 
at the Academie Royale, in Paris, 244. 
The scene in it characterized as L'En- 
fer, 244. 

Thalberg, a German pianist, at De Be- 
riot's concert given in London, 333, 
335. 

Thames river, passage down the, and 
remarks, 20. 

Theatres, in Paris, 5, 238, 268, 277; in 
London, 18,332; in Amsterdam, 24 ; 
at Hanover, 33; in Berlin, 37; at 
Prague, 62. American and European 
representations at, 63. At Pesth, 81 ; 
at Vienna, 84; at Munich, 95; at 
Marseilles, 191. Admission behind 
the scenes of, 191. In Toulouse, 211. 
In Bordeaux, 212. Further particu- 
lars respecting the Parisian, 241. Sup- 
port of, in Paris, 277. The London re- 
visited, 332. 

Three Kings. See Drei Konige von Coin. 

Tides in the Mediterranean Sea, 197, 
note. 

Tomb of the Three Kings, at Cologne, 
114, 131. 

Tortoni's, ices and liqueurs at, 284. 
Toulon, excursion to, 196. Situation 
and importance of, 196. Its harbour, 
197. French navy at, 197. Translu- 
cency of the waters at, 197, and note. 
Description of the Montebello ship 
of the line at, 198. 

Toulouse, objects of interest in, 210. 
Bridge there, 210. Water tower, 210. 
Roman amphitheatre and aqueduct at, 
210. Roman statues there, 210. The 
siege and battle of, 210. Theatre in, 
211. 

Tours, bridge and objects of interest at, 
217. 



Transfiguration, a painting by Raffaelle, 
231. 

Travellers, American, sensations of, in 
Europe, 21. Unsatisfactory accounts 
given by, 336. Character of Eng- 
lish, 339. The prejudices of Ameri- 
can respecting foreigners, 343. 

Travelling, reflections on, 23, 44. Ex- 
citement from, 48. Wearing influence 
of, on body and mind, 129. By Malle 
Poste, 215. Its tendency to a desulto- 
ry life considered, 341. Effects of, on 
one's own condition, 342. American 
prejudices respecting foreigners at the 
time of comme*ncing, 343. Stifles na- 
tional vanity, 343. Other illusions re- 
moved by, 344. Effects of, on one's 
views of human happiness, 344. Ef- 
fects of, on Americans, upon their re- 
turn home, 345. Solid advantages of, 
346. 

Trianons, Les Deux, at Paris, 327. Re- 
marks on the gardens of the Lesser of 
the, 327, note. 
Triumphal arch of Napoleon, at Paris, 

3,9. 
Tuileries, the garden of the, 7, 226. 
View from the, 8. The Chateau of 
the, described, 226. 



U. 



Ude, gastronomic immortality of, 294. 
Utrecht, journey to, from Amsterdam, 28. 



V. 



Varietes, Theatre des, in Paris, charac- 
ter of the, 276. 

Vases, containing the hearts of the im- 
perial family of Austria, 70. 

Vaucluse, excursion to, 177. The cele- 
brated fountain of, 178. Appearances 
of nature there, 178. The residence 
of Petrarch, 179. Column to Laura 
there, and her dwellinghouse, 180. 

Vaud , extracts from Rousseau respecting 
the Canton of, 142. 



364 



GENERAL INDEX. 



Vaudeville, Theatre de, performers at 
the 276, 304. Characteristic features 
of the, 305. 

Veron, the Cafe, a favorite breakfasting- 
house with the English and Americans 
in Paris, 283. Remarks on the ser- 
vice there, 283. 

Very's Restaurant in Paris, 292. Its el- 
egance, 293. The salon, 293. Its 
viandes and the readiest way to pro- 
cure them, 294. The carte du restau- 
rant, 294, 26. The French volaille, 
294. The wines, 290. Particularity 
of the bills made out there, 297. 

Victory, the ship, at Portsmouth, 329. 

Vienna, character of the Cabinet of, G5. 
Approach to, GG. Archduke Charles 
Hotel at, G7. The Imperial library 
at, 67. Public rooms, (JS Churches 
and architecture in, 69. Hearts of the 
imperial family of Austria preserved 
at, 70. Palaces in, 70. Its arsenal, 
72. Promenades and gardens, 72. Ex- 
cursion from, to Presburg and Pesth, 
76. Return to, in a wagon, 82. Iden- 
tification of, with Austria, 83. Opera 
at, 84. Prices for admission to public 
amusements in, 84. 

Viennese, fondness of, for instrumental 
music, 74. Their morality and deco- 
rum considered, 84. Fondness of, for 
pleasure, 86. 

Vigne. See De la Vigne. 

Vocal concerts, infrequency of, in Paris, 
305. 

Volaille, particulars respecting the 
French, 295. 

Volks-Garten, a pleasure-ground at Vi- 
enna, noticed, 73. 



Voltaire, intimacy of Frederic the 
Great with, 40, 164. Visit to the 
residence of, at Ferney, 161. His 
death, 1G2. The old gardener's re- 
collections of, 162. Character and 
skepticism of, 1G3. Tomb of, 223. Au- 
tograph of, in the Royal Library at 
Paris, 299. 

Voyage, to Europe, 1. Return. 340. 



W. 

Water, distribution of, through the city 
of Toulouse, 210. 

Water excursions, musings on, 188. 

Wellington, Duke of, his personal ap- 
pearance, 331. 

Wiesbaden, a place of fashionable resort, 
101. TheKursaal at, 101. Gambling 
at, 102. 

Wine, manufacture of, at Johannisberg, 
303. Prevalence of drinking, in south- 
ern France, 181. The Bordeaux, 214. 
At Very's restaurant, 296. 

Wine cellar, at Bremen, 30. 



Young, Edward, extract from his Night 
Thoughts, respecting Narcissa, 206. 



Z. 



Zoological Gardens at London, visited, 
331. 



,'l 



